


168 Hours

by BinaBina, OfficialTrashDaddy



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Aromantic Raihan, Discussions of childhood sexual abuse, Extremely crude language, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Piers on tour, Post-Game(s), Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Team skull as family, alcoholic character, all these tags make it seem really dark but its not i promise, body image issues, characterized pokemon, discussions of child abuse, fic spans a single week, friendship is serious business, healing together, just giving the proper heads up for when those things do occur, ok slow burn for us but wildfire to them, past toxic relationships, post nut clarity as an emotional development device, sticc piers (but a tall sticc), thicc guzma, will contain smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 131,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinaBina/pseuds/BinaBina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialTrashDaddy/pseuds/OfficialTrashDaddy
Summary: Alola. The final stop in Piers' very first inter-regional rock tour, and an abhorrently sunny place meant to relax and unwind him after the stresses of touring. He deserves the vacation, is what his sister and lone best friend insisted, but of bloody fucking course things aren't allowed to go smoothly for just once in his sad, sorry life.Guzma's days have been filled with the same old, same old for years now. Patch up Po Town. Train with Hala. Try not to get frustrated at how no one's given his reformed gang a fair shot even after all this time. With his record, he's not expecting things to ever be sunshine and roses, but hell, any break to this tired monotony is more than welcome.(Amazing how much one's life can change in only a week.)
Relationships: Guzma/Nezu | Piers (Pokemon), background kbnz (platonic)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 113





	1. Lost And Found In Alola

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy finally, the very first swsh fic I ever worked on, finally being published! This fic is a collaborative passion project between the co-author and I. Without them this never would have existed. Tags will be updated as chapters progress, but the big warnings are already up-front. All the dark stuff you see in the tags is mostly contained within Chapter 6, and when the time comes we'll warn again and accommodate those who might want to skip discussions of such content. This fic will contain smut, and the rating will be bumped up once we reach it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ride!
> 
>  **FORMATTING KEY:** A wide gap in the text denotes a POV switch. A line containing a ". . ." denotes a time skip forward within that POV. A line break denotes a major scene change and always comes with a POV switch. Hopefully these marks are intuitive, but for clarity's sake I'm defining them here.

Alola's supposed to be nice, Piers heard. Lovely weather, even lovelier people, with spectacular natural sights. The perfect spot for the finale concert in his very first inter-regional rock tour.

An underrated paradise, they said. A hidden gem. A little slice of heaven on earth.

So why the _fuck_ did he just get mugged? One second he was taking an exploratory stroll after checking into the resort not five minutes ago, and the next, he's bashed into from behind. Piers barely catches himself from falling and jerks his head up at the teasing laughter blazing past.

Four Dusk Balls are clutched in two pairs of tiny hands.

The facts strike him as he stumbles into stability—one, they're just _kids,_ and two, kids or not, they nicked his whole team!

"O-OI! Stop there!"

He stumbles into a run and gives chase, but their head start is too much to overcome and they ignore his yelling. Damn brats are bloody fast, and there's no one else on the road this early in the morning—sun has barely risen—to impede their progress or trip them up.

What a warm fucking welcome. This better just be some kind of poor-taste prank, because the alternative is not pleasant to think about. But less thinking, more running!

A curse leaves his panting mouth when the kids dodge into an alley, because of course they would. The narrow passage opens up into a wider street and Piers skids to a messy stop to look around. The road is lightly dotted with people despite the early hour, but even in the thin crowd there's no sign of the brats. Dammit, where'd they go, where are they? Are they hiding in plain sight? Blending in? Betting on him going frantic and missing something obvious?

He stands as high as he can to try and spot the brats in the street, eyes flickering over anything that moves. An elderly couple on a stroll. A flower bush swaying in the crisp morning breeze. A shopkeep opening her store, glancing at him sideways. His scanning gets more and more desperate with every failed sweep. No kids, no running figures, no laughter or shouting.

No nothing. It's like they vanished.

Dread opens a hole in his chest that won't close anytime soon.

He's lost them. Lost the kids. Lost his team. Out of sight but not out of mind.

Weighted beyond their usual slump by the loss of his Pokémon and the pressure of deserved guilt, his shoulders drop, and his posture sags into desolate territory.

Obstagoon... Malamar, Scrafty, Skuntank... He chose to bring them with him on this tour in the off chance anyone wanted to test themselves against a retired Galarian Gym Leader and the team he used for the Challenge... No one ever challenged him through all the regions he passed through, which he should have expected, so he could have left them all home with no trouble. Instead he clung to that little what-if, brought the crew along, and look at what happened. Look what he did.

If only he left them behind in Galar. If only he was more observant, this wouldn't have happened. If only he was quicker to react, if only he was faster, he'd have caught up! He let his guard down once and this is what he gets.

If they get hurt, it's on him. If he can't find them, it's on him. Who knows what those brats intend to do with his team? His Pokémon are tough, true Spikemuth-blooded beasts, but he can't bear the thought of leaving them in the hands of potentially malicious strangers.

Piers sucks in a deeper breath. Got to calm his body down, take stock of the situation. Standing here panicking won't solve anything. He's got to get his team back as soon as possible. Whether that's in the next ten minutes or at the last second before he's supposed to sing in five days, he doesn't care. If he doesn't have his Pokémon safe and sound, he refuses to go through with the show. If he can't find them in time for the concert he's calling the whole thing off.

_Finale be damned and paradise my arse..._

Forget settling in at the resort and unpacking. He's starting the search right this bloody second.

Only thing is, he has no fucking clue where to begin. He only landed in Alola half an hour ago. Everything is completely unfamiliar to him. The thieves could be in any one of possibly hundreds of nooks and crannies that his tenderfoot exploring would pass right over. The only silver lining here is that Alola is a pocket-sized region. Hidden away or not, there's only so many places those brats can hide.

If he asks around, finds a local to help him, then maybe he can get his team back before the end of the day. Even if no one helps, he won't stop until he finds them, no matter how long it takes, even if he has to tear the whole damn region upside down.

And god help anyone who gets in his way.

"A'ight a'ight, let's see what we got!"

"Four Pokémon from that guy! That's one for each of us!"

Deep inside an alley, blocked from any prying eyes by garbage bins, a delinquent set of four crouches in a tight circle, laughing and jostling.

"Good job jackin' them, dude. You've still got it!"

"No sweat. He had no idea what was happening 'til it was too late, what an idiot!"

"...Don't you think he looked kinda familiar, though?"

"Naw, what are you talkin' about? He was just some tourist dumb enough to keep his Pokémon danglin' there for anyone to take. He was askin' for it!"

"Yeah, it's his fault for being so stupid."

"And did you hear him back there? His accent was wack!"

The two who pulled the heist mimic the voice of their victim so their friends can have a laugh over it. The mockery is quickly forgotten and their hushed laughs fade as their minds turn back to business. "So... Y'all really think the boss would be impressed if we caught us some Pokémon legit using these?"

"For sure, man. He _has_ to let us back into the squad after that. We'll show him we can hold our own! We'll get mad rep showin' up with our own Pokémon!"

They divide the stolen balls evenly between them, one for each.

"Okay, now if anyone asks, we say we found these lyin' around."

"Wait. Hold up... What do we do once we've caught our new 'mon? We can't just leave these ones layin' around... Or turn them in without gettin' caught..."

"Oh. Shit."

The four fall into an uneasy silence.

"...What about... uh."

"Well we can't take 'em to Boss, he'd get mad... He doesn't do this stuff no more."

The other three murmur in agreement. Giving the stolen Pokémon to Guzma is not an option. Returning the Pokémon to their trainer is also rejected without any of them having to say a word. As far as they know, the tourist would turn them in to the authorities the moment he sees them.

The tension in the alley winds tighter, all four kids staring at the balls in their hands and stealing glances at each other, trying to guess what the others are thinking. One opens his mouth, a moment away from questioning if maybe this wasn't the best plan after all, but the girl at his side jumps to her feet, fist on her hip.

"We can figure it out later! First thing's first, we gotta prove to Boss we've got our shit together!"

"R-Right!" They each grip their stolen means to an end in their hands. Once they've gotten their key to forgiveness for bailing the gang, then they can worry about details. One thing at a time! "Let's split up and meet back here after we all got a catch, got it? Sundown at the latest! Stay in twos! Now, let's go make Boss proud!"

Olivia's doing her best to rush. Kiawe wants to see her over some issue he didn't have time to clarify, and she's late! But when an unusual sight gets her attention on the HeaHea streets, she has to stop and investigate. She's Kahuna of this island, after all. Kiawe can wait a little bit longer, and besides, she's already late, so what's the harm?

She strides up to a tall pale stranger, dressed eccentrically and acting it too, poking his head into alleys with distress shining like a beacon from every angle of his body. Strange. Tourists usually aren't active this early in the morning...

"Hey there!"

She stretches up and taps him. The man jolts and spins around with his shoulders spiked up to his ears, and she meets his worry with a warm, hopefully reassuring smile.

"You look stuck between a rock and a hard place! Do you need any help? Are you lost?"

Now that she's face to face with him, she can fully appreciate how strange he is. He's tall and thin as an Exeggutor's neck, and his hair is the longest she's ever seen on a man, tied up in a wild ponytail. The two-tone hair reminds her of Plumeria from Team Skull. Or of the boss himself. His metallic accessories carry the similarities further.

For all the stranger's oddities, something about him is familiar... The shade of pink accenting his outfit rings a few bells.

"Lost? No, I've... I'm not the one who's lost." The foreigner shakes his head and fidgets. "Two blokes ran into me, came outta nowhere, 'bout near knocked me over, and..." His accent is percussive and screams _I don't belong here._ Galarian, she recognizes, why does that feel that so significant?

He pulls on his necklace with a sharp sigh. "They stole my Pokémon."

Olivia blinks in surprise. Pokémon thieving, that's one she hasn't heard in a while. She hoped she'd never hear it again.

"Stole?" she asks. "This just happened?" The stranger gives her a jerky nod and stands on his toes to look even further over her head, searching even as he talks. "I chased the kids here, but lost them. I've no idea where they could be." He clutches harder at the ring. "I need to find them. I have to get my Pokémon back. If I don't I'm gonna cancel my show, I can't perform while they're missing!"

Show?

Oh! That's right! So this is Piers! She didn't know he was arriving this early, she must have missed that reminder. It's nice to see him in person instead of over email, but she wishes it was under better circumstances. A foreign rockstar visiting their tiny region is a big event!

"Calm down, hun. I'm the island Kahuna here, I'll help you."

Kiawe will be pissed at her tardiness, but he should understand if it's for Piers' sake. It sure was a shock when a singer all the way from Galar reached out to them about potentially having a show in Alola. They don't usually get these kinds of visitors!

All four Kahunas agreed it would be a great idea (Nanu only shrugged, but that's as good as it gets from him), and they set the singer up with accommodations and a volunteer agent with an excellent track record for organizing community events.

It's a shame that the first thing to happen to the guy is getting his Pokémon stolen. Not a good look for Alola. It's her duty to help get them back. There's only one man she can think of who'd have something to do with this, but for fairness's sake she has to ask for details.

"What did they look like? Can you describe them for me?"

"They... wore black. And they covered their faces with somethin', I could only see their eyes," Piers recounts with furrowed brows. "But I could tell they were teenagers. Does that sound familiar? Do—Do you know them or where they could be?"

She knows them, alright. And what a disappointment it is.

She hoped Guzma wasn't involved. He's supposed to be reforming himself... That gang's been doing so well at staying out of trouble. Some of them are even integrating back into society, finding jobs or volunteering, and in some cases getting back with their families again, bad blood slowly but steadily clearing.

But this? This is not good.

She sighs and closes her eyes with a discontent swing of her head. "I didn't want to believe it, but it sounds like Team Skull are back at it again." 

Nanu's going to be so disappointed, and she'll have to tell Kahuna Hala about it too, if it really is Team Skull. Oh, boy. This could get hairy if they don't resolve this soon. Assuming that the gang is behind this, the teens are most likely already on their way to home base. She'll have to pass this case on to Nanu, which means getting Piers over to Ula'Ula. The docks aren't too far from here.

Early as it is, the first ferry of the day already departed. They'll have to catch the second one.

"I have a place to start. Come with me."

Don't have to ask him twice.

The woman keeps a strict pace as they walk. He's pleased with the hurry; the sense that they're actually doing something keeps his head on straight for now.

"As I was saying, it sounds like Team Skull. More than likely the two aren't on this island anymore. They probably got on the first ferry and made their way to Po Town, on Ula'Ula Island. So you're about to do the same."

Piers gapes at her back. His Pokémon are on another island _already?_ How organized is this operation? Figures that even pristine places like this have their gangs. It's nice to have a clear suspect, if nothing else. And a location to check out first. This might actually blow over today.

Look at him, keeping on the bloody bright side...

The lady doesn't sound scared for his Pokémon, nor did she imply that they're in any sort of extreme danger. Piers is clinging to her lack of visible worry to keep his nerves from fraying any further.

"I'll phone the Kahuna of that island and fill him in. You can catch the next boat over there. Nanu'll meet you at the dock and take you to Po Town where the thieves are most likely hiding, and you and him can work things out from there. That sound good?"

No wonder this lady's a Kahuna—some kind of authority position from the way she framed it—if she can put together an action plan like that. Wait. Kahuna like how the people he's reached out to about an Alolan concert have signed their names? Is this one of them? She gave no indication that she recognized who he is, but he isn't of a mind to distract from their mission. Nothing matters but getting his Pokémon back as soon as possible.

"Sounds great, thank you..."

There goes his pre-concert vacation plans, not that he cares. Piers would gladly trade all his free time away if it was for his Pokémon's sake. Wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and as long as they need him it won't be the last.

. . .

The boat ride was utterly horrid. Piers does not have his sea legs, nor a sea stomach, which was a grand discovery and helped his anxiety a wonderfuldeal. Can't spare the mind to be anxious when you're too busy holding onto breakfast, at least. Shitty, tasteless, hard-to-keep-down airline breakfast. He barely avoided tasting it a second time, but from the other direction.

His boots scuff the wood of the dock as he shambles as far from the ocean as possible, arm wrapped around his middle to hold himself steady. Olivia (who really _was_ one of the people he emailed; she properly introduced herself and wished him luck right before shoving him onto the ferry) said he has to meet Nanu, but she didn't say at all what the guy looks like or where he'd be waiting. Not many people on the dock this early, so...

A pair of sandaled feet come into view. Piers reluctantly picks his head up to see who they belong to. It's a stern-looking old-timer with rust-red eyes and a... is he a copper? Oh, great help he'll be...

"...You Nanu?"

The man nods. Piers forces himself to straighten up, and in his sea-fouled mood forgets to bother with manners. "What's the deal with this Team Skull, then?"

The old man's unimpressed expression doesn't budge. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself before you go asking questions?"

He narrows his eyes, but holds his tongue on firing something smart back. Badge or no badge, this man's all he's got to guide him. He shouldn't be snippy or piss the codger off lest it ruin his chances at getting his team back. God, he's gonna hate this.

"Sorry," he forces out. "Name's Piers."

The old man raises a brow. They stare at each other and it takes everything Piers has to not glare. His residual seasickness sure isn't helping. The hell is the old man waiting for?

"Follow me, then."

Piers lurches after him, glad to get moving again and oddly grateful the copper isn't pretending to be friendly. "So who—"

"Team Skull," Nanu drawls, "used to be the local hoodlums here in Alola. They'd steal Pokémon and sell them for money."

Whatever remaining blood he has in his face drains away and leaves him pale as a sheet. Selling Pokémon. His team aren't objects, they're his friends, his partners, how can anyone try putting a price tag on them? Why was Olivia so casual about all this? Lulled him into a false sense of security, she did!

"Y-You're tellin' me they're tryin' to turn a profit off my Pokémon?"

Nanu heaves a sigh and waves his hand. "Past tense, kid. They were supposed to have quit. But I guess old habits die hard."

Piers is on a one-way track to a heart attack if he hears any more bad news. The copper stays silent, pace a shuffle, and while the temptation to urge him on sits hot on his tongue, Piers doesn't want to push his luck by urging him on. Knowing they're on their way will have to be enough to keep him sane.

. . .

"We're getting close."

It's the first words they've spoken since leaving the dock, which is a long, long way behind them. The only saving graces throughout this god-awful trek were that the early morning temperatures are cool and the sun hasn't bared its teeth yet in all the time they've hiked. Shocking, given how bleedin' slow the old man walks. He doesn't even look like he needs a cane. Bastard's taking an easy pace on purpose.

After covering what feels like the entire circumference of the island, the two finally approach a high-walled enclosure. Nanu speeds his pace at last and Piers looks around in confusion. The path ends here. There's no little village that matches the residences they passed to reach here.

"Where's the town?" He tilts his head back to take in the sheer scale of the compound.

Nanu extracts a key from his pocket, approaching a gate that's the same shade of slate as the rest of the walls. "You're looking at it."

Oh. So it's similar to home. A whole town shut in by high walls and a gate. That's the end of the similarities he can see. Spikemuth doesn't look like a fucking penitentiary from the outside, what sort of town is this?

"I don't go inside if I can help it, so once you're in, you're on your own. My place is right up this route. We passed it already." Nanu blindly gestures back the way they came. "If you don't come get me, I'll assume everything went well."

At least Nanu isn't pretending to be invested in the crisis at hand. For all the faith Piers has in officers (read: none at all), he appreciates when they're honest about not giving a shit.

"I hope it ends here as much as you do." He sighs and draws up to the gate.

The big doors slide open with Piers standing centered at the widening split. What the hell? There's... green inside. Lots of green. Palm trees, hedges, actual grass in the neighborhood... So much for being an Alolan Spikemuth. This pit's a bloody suburb.

"See you when I see you." The old man waves before strolling away easy as a cat, leaving Piers alone against the unknown enemy.

He isn't about to be intimidated now. Anyone who steals Pokémon is a coward, and it's bad form to gang up on someone who doesn't have any to battle with. Besides, how scary could this Team Skull be if they send kids to do their dirty work and live in full-size houses with double floors and front yards and everything? Really living it up, they are. Bet this gang is soft as can be.

Soft or not, though, if they dared to put a single scratch on any of his crew...

That dark thought pushes him past the open gates. They slide closed behind him and he suddenly feels as though he's at the bottom of a fish tank. It's quiet, and still, and if Nanu didn't lead him here and open the doors himself, Piers would think the whole compound was abandoned. Not a soul in sight. God, the high walls make the place ominous as fuck even with the clear morning weather and strengthening sun.

He doesn't sense any hidden eyes on him, so he makes his way down the main road without further hesitation.

The deeper he goes, the more run-down the place reveals itself to be, and before long he starts noticing some signs of life. Every other thing on the street looks a sneeze away from falling apart, but some show evidence of amateur repair.

The houses are more dilapidated than he first realized. Busted windows, roughshod roof repairs. He spies a ladder leaning on one, with a hammer still on the roof, loose tiles lacing the gutter in a neat row that could only have been made by thoughtful hands. One of the hedges has laundry spread on it to dry. Bright graffiti coats plenty of walls and even stains the cobbled street and the weeds trying to trip him up. Next to one prostrate mural, bare-bones in design, are spray cans with the caps still on, and all the weeds have been ripped from the cobble to make a smoother canvas. It's no slapdash thing. It's someone's working art project amidst the sea of tags.

He takes it back. This place does remind him of Spikemuth, in a way...

Homesickness manages to put a single pang in his chest before he shoves it down. This is no time to think about anything other than the task at hand. Got to stay focused.

The house down the center of the street dwarfs all the others. It's more of a manor than anything, with a balcony and a facade full of windows and stairs leading up to the front door. Exactly the type of place the boss of a shitty gang would shack up.

His Pokémon could be in there right now.

Piers strides up in front of the mansion and eyes the balcony. If anyone's sleeping in, they're in for a wake-up call. He's here for one thing and wants everyone to know just how badly they've messed up by endangering his precious Pokémon.

Piers rolls his shoulders back, braces his stance on bent knees, and sucks in a deep breath.

And _yells._

" **OI!** " The shout crashes against the derelict building and echoes right back past him, ringing down the streets and bouncing between the houses and boundaries of the walls. " **WHOEVER'S THE BOSS HERE, SHOW YOUR FACE!** " He jabs an arm to point straight at the upper balcony and tosses his head to add flair to his challenge. " **I'M HERE TO TAKE WHAT'S MINE!** "

The remnants of his screaming take a good long second to fade out, leaving Piers standing there, his own deep breaths and building anger his only company.

Guzma wakes with a start in the darkness of his bedroom.

Who the fuck is screaming about some bullshit? He had just laid down to get some sleep after fixing up shit around Po Town all goddamn night, so it better not be true that some rude motherfucker yelling at the top of their lungs woke him up. God, what time is it...

He grumbles to himself as he hunts for his phone. The fuck! It's way too early for this. Stupid prick, what kind of asshole comes to somebody's house and yells like that? Someone looking to get their ass beat, that's who.

"I'M HERE TO TAKE WHAT'S MINE!"

The hell is he talking about... He doesn't want to do shit for this guy! But the _kanapapiki_ will probably keep on making a scene if Guzma tries ignoring him. Guy can make an impressive racket, his screaming is crystal clear even through two walls and the pillow covering Guzma's head. No way can he get any more shut-eye like this... Fucker probably woke up the whole damn town...

Whole damn town. _The kids._

He growls beneath the pillow and tears it off his head.

Whoever it is better not be freaking his kids out. They deserve the rest more than anybody and the last thing they need is a strange adult trespassing in their town yelling and cursing and making demands. He's gotta get rid of this freak for their sakes. Po Town is their safe haven and he's gotta defend it, especially since he _knows_ they're all watching through their windows to check out the commotion.

How'd the motherfucker even get in? Bah, whatever. Only thing that matters now is how he's gonna get out. Guzma's gonna march right down there to give him a piece of his damn mind. Then he's gonna throw him the fuck out of Po Town and tell him if he ever comes back, he's signing up for an ass-kicking.

He drags himself out of bed, pulls some pants on so he's not bare-ass naked, and grabs his rounded sunglasses before shouldering his bedroom door open and trudging down the hall.

This is his first day off in ages from Hala's training and he's gotta start it off taking care of trouble. This guy better be _grateful_ to be graced with the Team Skull Boss's presence.

The sun shines bright and painful through the balcony doors, so he pushes his shades down on his way into the cool morning air. Now he can take a good long look at the son of a bitch who woke...

...Who is this guy? Sure as hell ain't Alolan.

Standing in front of his house is a total stranger. Lanky as fuck. Like damn _,_ he's skinny, pale as a ghost too. Pretty damn tall. Or no, maybe he just looks tall because he's so thin. His hair is stupidly long and wild and he's dressed in some pink and black getup with a white leather jacket that's too pristine for Po Town.

Obviously, not from around here. That makes this even worse. Guy doesn't know who he's messing with, does he. Big bad Guzma's gotta teach this punk a lesson.

He snarls down from behind his shades. "The hell are ya makin' a racket for!"

Piers narrows his eyes with a sneer. He doesn't believe one bit that this man has no clue why he's here. This whole dump is full of Pokémon thieves and his Pokémon were stolen, easy as that. Doesn't take a genius to draw the line from point A to point B. In fact, he's almost insulted this man is playing stupid, lording it up from above. He hates having to look up to anyone like this and refuses to give any two-bit villain an audience from down below.

"Well?" The man waves his hand sarcastically. "I don't got all day!"

As if he's the one in a twice-damned hurry! The prompting ignites a surge of anger, and Piers aims it at the balcony, focusing it into a spotlight of righteous fury.

"You!" His finger stabs up at the stranger, who bares his teeth in retaliation. Piers' arm slices like a guillotine and points at the ground in front of his feet. "Get your thievin' arse down here _now!_ "

The shirtless stranger grips the balcony railing and leans half over it. "Keep ya damn voice down! Some people are tryin' ta sleep around here!"

Sleep? _Sleep?_ Who cares about—

The audacity on this man!

That dismissal pisses Piers off to an astronomical degree. He snarls and roars like he's trying to knock the very sun out of the sky. "I DON'T GIVE A FLYIN' _FUCK_ ABOUT YOUR BEAUTY REST!"

The man above grimaces and leans back at the assault on his ears. Good. Feel his anger. He's been led around an entire bloody island to reach this place and he won't be taken lightly.

A tan hand flings over the edge of the railing and gestures at him. "Fine! Don't fuckin' move! I'm comin' down, _kanapapiki!_ "

Piers' hackles rise at the obvious insult and he can't stop himself from bellowing back. "I'M NOT GOIN' ANYWHERE!"

When the man leaves the balcony, Piers allows himself a moment to settle his heavy breathing.

About fucking time he made some real progress. He is sick of waiting on other people to move things along for him. That'll all change as soon as this obnoxious character comes out. If he's the boss of the whole operation, Piers is ready to rip that piece of shit a dozen new ones for daring to fuck with him and his beloved team.

He crosses his arms tight. His heel drives a sharp tempo into the dirty street as he waits for the man to descend, and the light weight of his empty belt keeps his fire burning.

The front doors of the building shake and burst open, and Piers stills his foot and rests a hand on his bony hip. Time to set things straight around here. His head tilts back in challenge and he flicks his eyes over the man before him.

Despite being on top of several steps, the man doesn't have any height over him with his horrible slouch. He's shirtless, tan-lined, with sleep-mussed hair and the tackiest sunglasses Piers has ever seen (impressive considering how high that bar is), and his pants look like they're about to fall right off his hips. He can't read a thing beyond the man's obvious displeasure thanks to those godawful shades.

What a dodgy lookin' lout, overall. Did he just wake up? Taking a fuckin' nap through all this, was he? No way is someone this sloppy the man in charge.

"You the leader of this Team Skull I keep hearin' about?" Doubt sours his voice.

After a moment of mutual sizing up, the man sneers and crosses his arms over his bare chest. "Yeah I'm the boss of this place, what's it to ya? Ya got a death wish or somethin'?"

Piers' chin cocks upward even more at the confirmation. "No, but I got a damn big bone to pick. Hear you've been stealin' Pokémon. Well? Where the hell are they?"

Irritation condenses over the gang leader's face like a stormcloud. Hah. Not happy with being caught, is he?

The boss's hands shove into his pockets and drops his response on Piers like he's ditching ballast.

"Don't have 'em."

The victory smirk making its way to his face is overtaken by a rush of annoyance. Guy must be a damn good liar to say that so easily. Does he take Piers for some kind of idiot?

"I ain't stupid." Piers' lips pull back in a full-on snarl, hands tense at his sides. "Where's. My. Team."

"I. Don't. Have 'em! I didn't fuckin' steal shit, I ain't done that in a long time!" The boss growls, suddenly looking more tired than he was when he first came out. "Not since... tch."

Oh, a likely story. "Don't believe you." He snarls. "Give my—"

"Man, get outta here before I _throw_ ya out."

Piers draws himself up and bristles with an _'I dare you'_ glare.

"I'll _politely_ excuse meself soon as I get my team back! Curtsy an' all, please an' fuckin' thank you!" His arms sweep out to mock the action, voice saturated with disdain. "So quit lyin' t'me and—"

"Ya do realize," the boss interrupts, head lowering like he's giving Piers a thorough scan behind his shades. "That if I gotta, I can and _will_ drag yer skinny ass outta here myself."

The low growl has Piers' arms pulling to his sides. He's suddenly conscious of the man's thick frame—broad muscled shoulders, a solid core, and hands that could snap him in two like the dry stick he is. Coming here alone might not have been the best idea, but what choice did he have? Nanu made him come here alone!

He nudges a foot back to strengthen his stance, eyeballing the distance between them. If this comes to a scrap, he won't run away. He can't. His Pokémon wouldn't run if it was him who was kidnapped and needing their help. Who cares if his arse gets kicked if it's for their sake.

_Certainly not me._

"I don't care." Sounds braver than he feels. Stands up straighter to compensate. "I have to get them back."

Seconds pass with him under scrutiny. He can't see the boss's eyes, but the pressure of being inspected is enough to make a blind man turn his head.

"...Look, punk, yer lucky I'm tired from rebuildin' this place and takin' care of my gang. I don't got the energy to deal with ya. See yerself out." He turns to leave, revealing a large tattoo that Piers can't pay any mind to. It's an insignificant blip on the radar compared to the looming doom of his only lead turning his back.

It has to be a bluff. It has to be lies.

"Don't walk away, I knowyou have 'em!" He lurches a step forward. "Don't say you don't!"

His words bounce right off that tattooed back.

"I don't. I really don't." The man sighs, suddenly weary and worn and terrifyingly sincere. "I gave that shit up a long time ago, a'ight? Got no idea what happened to your 'mon. Sorry they're missin', but it ain't got nothin' to do with me."

No... No, that's—that's not right. He has no idea where to go from here if Team Skull isn't the culprit. Everyone was so sure it was them, he wouldn't have come this far if people didn't think it was them! He's got no other leads!

"You... You didn't—No, I..." he stammers uselessly. The boss's hand is on the doorframe already.

"I told ya. Got nothin' ta do with this. Now leave."

The words are ice water. They douse his fervor and leave him rooted to the spot with his focused train of thought screeching loose on slippery tracks.

Fuck. Fuck, _fuck!_ Was this all a waste? He squandered his entire morning on this trip. He could have spent this time searching back on Akala Island, could have grilled Nanu for more details, could have done anything other than trust all these strangers like an optimistic idiot and get led on a chase that resulted in nothing.

What if he never sees his Pokémon again. Obstagoon's always been at his side, always had his back since he was little and Goony was just a tiny Zigzagoon. All of his Pokémon have been there for him throughout his life. All that love, paid back by a kidnapping because their trainer couldn't be arsed to pay the slightest bit more attention when walking around on bloody vacation. Death by negligence, how could he? _How could he?_

Piers' chest tightens around the breath he needs to take. The gang boss is a step away from entering the open doors of the manor and taking all of Piers' hopes and composure with him.

But the boss stops on his own. Piers freezes too, down to the nonexistent breath in his lungs, eyes flickering over the other man's body for any hint of what could be on his mind, any indication of what he might say, what he might do, and doesn't dare to hope.

What stops Guzma cold, one step away from shutting this stranger out for good, is a sucker-punch revelation.

If someone's going around stealing Pokémon, it'll only thrash Team Skull's new name.

He can't have that. Not after he worked so hard to lift their reputation bit by tiny bit. If this punk keeps asking around for help, it'll just make everyone think Team Skull is up to no good again even when they're not. Everything he's been busting his ass for will go up in flames, and the scorched earth left behind will mean no second chances at being trusted to grow.

As much as he hates the idea of doing anything for the rude-ass prick who woke him up, he's got no choice but to step in and help. For his own sake, and for his gang's sake.

Still with his back to the desperate stranger, he breaks the silence with a terse question.

"You said someone stole 'em?"

"Y-... Yeah..." The man's voice is quieter than it ever was before. Not quiet. Quiet- _er_. "I saw it happen, they ripped my crew right offa me. Couple o' kids."

_Ah, shit. Don't tell me..._

"What'd they look like." He's not looking forward to the answer because he thinks he knows it already.

"Why d'you wanna know?" The stranger's voice is laced with suspicion.

"Just tell me already. I'm curious, damn." He rubs the back of his head, trying not to come off as too concerned. Don't wanna give the guy any hope yet.

"I dunno what they looked like. They knocked me down from behind. Stole my team and scarpered, laughin' it up the whole way. I told someone they wore black 'n covered their faces, and they were adamant sayin' it was Team Skull. _Your_ Team Skull." The accusations hit their mark on the target that rightfully exists on his back. "Can you really tell me your gang had absolutely nothin' to do with this?"

Silence wraps around them, thick and buzzing. But this time, he doesn't think he can brush it aside, because this guy's story lines up too well with what everyone apparently still expects of Team Skull. After everything he's done to show Alola he's changed, people still don't trust him. He understands a foreign stranger not knowing any better, but everyone else? They're so quick to blame Team Skull, to blame _him_ when things go wrong.

What stings most is, this time they might have been right. Those kids are definitely some of his brats. He has a hunch over which ones, too, especially since the guy said there was more than one...

According to his latest problem, he takes too long to answer. The punk's boots stomp up the concrete porch and a cold hand grasps his bare shoulder. Damn, he was expecting a weak grip, but the skinny guy's got a surprisingly strong one with that bony hand. Guzma lets himself be pulled around. His sunglasses are shoved up and the foreigner leans down until they're scowl to scowl.

Stony black eyes clash with frigid green. He can't look away, these eyes are unlike anyone's he's ever encountered before. They're a deep cold green like glaciers he's only seen pictures of online, but they're so bright and alive and filled with ferocity. Like bonfires raging inside the ice, like a lion roaring in its cage, shadowed and fierce and proud despite its desperation.

Lion ain't roaring now, though...

Guzma narrows his eyes as the stranger forces his hackles down and sheathes his claws.

"I need to find them. _Please_ ," the man grits out inches from his face. The hand tightens on his shoulder again, and that seething voice simmers low and restrained. "You're the only lead I have. Please tell me ye got some idea where they could be. A clue, a gut feelin', I'll take anythin'."

The tonal shift and the sudden vulnerability flashing through those eyes hunch Guzma's shoulders. He's... not used to anyone talking to him like that. Asking him for help. As if _he_ could possibly do anyone any good.

"I..." He falters.

" _Please._ "

Third time's the charm for the magic word to hit him.

The guy's actually pleading with him. Him! He hasn't heard that word from anyone who isn't trying to get him to politely fuck off, or who isn't one of his kids. His kids ask him for help plenty, but only when they think they're in way over their heads. As their final, last resort.

Just like he is to this guy.

He tears his gaze away and clenches his fists. Why does he have to be so goddamn soft...

"Fine _._ I'll help ya." He curls his lip and shrugs the icy vice off like it's nothing more than snow dusting his shoulder. He rubs it warm again and glances back up.

Gratitude shines on the stranger's face, and for the first time Guzma notices him as... not bad-looking. That aside, someone looking _thankful_ at him when he hasn't done shit yet makes something within him start to itch.

"Lemme just... put a shirt on an' we can get goin'," he mumbles. "Follow me."

The stranger ducks inside after him.

It may be a sunny morning, but it's always dim inside the Shady House. This is the first time a foreigner's been inside, so all the little things Guzma's accustomed to are poking at his subconscious—the beat-up furniture, the creaky floor, even the air itself, musty and stagnant and probably not the healthiest to breathe in all day.

At least him and the gang cleaned the place up some these past few weeks. The mansion doesn't have as much useless junk lying around anymore, and it's easier to get to his room now. Instead of having to climb over the roof and clamber through the window they can take the stairs like normal people.

Rather than follow him all the way into his bedroom, the stranger leans on the wall outside the door, granting him space to get dressed. Funny that he's so considerate now after screaming like a banshee five minutes ago.

"So... you asked me what the thieves look like. Was my description familiar? You know who did it?" Despite staying behind out of sight, the guy's voice carries into the room as if he were standing right at Guzma's side, tense and probing.

He picks up whatever shirt is on the ground, it's clean enough. The neck catches over his sunglasses and he curses under his breath, fumbling to fix them.

"Kinda. I dunno exactly who stole yer 'mon, but I got a feelin'."

Some of his old brats. Kids who split, who he can't really call _his_ anymore even though he still views them as his own. They're still family even if they cut and bailed, and if they're behind this mess, he's gonna fix it. It's what he's gotta do.

"A feelin'. Well, your feelin' better get us somewhere." The stranger sharply sighs. "What've ye got."

His chain settles cold around his neck when he loops it over his head, careful not to jostle his shades this time. Walking around without his chain is like going around naked.

"See, when I disbanded Team Skull, most of the gang stayed with me to try and do good instead a' makin' trouble. Some weren't too happy with that change, though."

It disappointed him so bad when some of his brats left out of rebellion. He understood why but didn't like it one bit. Watching them leave the gang was like watching a part of himself walk away.

"And ye think it's them who nicked my crew?" The light tap of shoe on carpet fills the space between their words.

"Yup," he huffs. "I dunno exactly where they hang out, these kids, but I've got a few ideas of where they could be if they've got their hands on someone's Pokémon. Don't worry, they're not in danger or nothin'."

The tapping stops.

Guzma grabs his jacket and shakes it out. The scarlet X duct-taped over the skull on his back stands out like a teacher's failing mark. A half-turned cross he's gotta bear. He slips it on, relaxing a little under its familiar texture, and finalizes his outfit with a calculated tug to help the hoodie settle over his broad shoulders.

"So these kids weren't keen on turnin' a new leaf with the rest o' ya..." The stranger's voice weaves around him and clips into a scoff. "And ye've been lettin' 'em scamper about unsupervised, knowin' that. Thanks a million."

This bitch.

Guzma's glare reflects off the mirror to burn into the wall past the open door. "I don't control no one, ya hear me? They left the gang on their own, I had no idea what they've been up ta."

"No idea? Really? You sure have an idea right now."

The sarcasm curls his hands into fists and he grits his teeth. "Guess they wanted to keep doin' shit like this, then."

"And you didn't think it was a possibility when they left." The stranger sounds like a know-it-all parent, critical and disappointed in the worst fucking way. It grates Guzma's ears and he snarls at the reflection of the doorway.

"I wanted ta give 'em a chance, okay? I'll knock some fuckin' sense inta their heads for this 'cause it's my responsibility to keep 'em outta trouble. And fer your information, this favor I'm doin' ya? I ain't doin' it for you. I'm doin' this for me and my gang and no one else. So shut the fuck up, quit bitchin' at me, and let me do my job."

The fucker doesn't say anything after that. Good. Fucking good. He can't stand this interrogation, he was one more question away from marching right out his door and decking the guy in his snide fucking face. He knows _nothing_ about what they've been through. He's got no right to fucking judge them when he doesn't know jack shit about their lives.

Guzma clamps his hands against his sides and shuts his eyes. Slow down there. Hitting someone wouldn't do any real good, as satisfying as it would feel in the moment. It'd only backfire on him. And if Hala ever found out... Fuck. He can picture the old man's face already.

He's gotta calm down. Think this through, like Hala taught him. Deep breaths. Don't let shit overwhelm him, because his first reaction to getting overwhelmed is to lash out and try to fight shit. One thing at a time.

Alright, so this guy's obviously a foreigner. Anyone could tell with a single glance, but the weird snappy accent is a dead giveaway he's not from around here. Doesn't excuse him being a total dickweed, but the _haole_ does have ignorance on his side. Guzma can let this shit slide. Just this once. After that, though... no guarantees. Guy better wise up or he can kiss Guzma's help goodbye.

He finds his shoes in opposite corners of the room. As he's hunched over his knotted shoelaces, the stranger speaks up again.

"...People talked as if your gang was up and runnin'." The voice is quieter, more neutral, but kinda grating nonetheless. "No one told me you disbanded."

With a displeased click of his tongue, he resumes tying his laces. "Yeah, well, they wouldn't." Because to them, Skull is still there. Still threatening. Still evil and not to be trusted. The whole fucking region is still judging them, even when they're trying to help out. Can't catch a damn break. If he tries to approach anyone they fucking cower or run away or look at him like they're begging him to die on the spot. Fuckers...

"Got any more stupid questions?" He rises into a slouch, shoving his hands into his pockets. He's not in any rush to walk out there. The sight of that pale face might piss him off all over again. He's gotta calm the rest of the way down first.

Piers sorely regrets trying to make conversation.

He didn't mean to piss the guy off, but did regardless. He was just frustrated and tense waiting for this boss to hurry and get dressed, and allowed his mood to run his mouth into a tactless ditch.

_Good job, mate. Gone and pissed off your only solid aid. You're terrible at gettin' help when it matters._

The dark atmosphere radiating from the bedroom is approaching corporeal. Rather than say anything risky to further steep it, Piers switches the subject from reputation to reparation. If this doesn't work, he'll have to apologize in a more straightforward manner...

"Er..." His fingertips brush over the cool ring of his choker. "Not a question, but. Thank you for agreein' to help me. If you didn't I'd be in some real deep shit."

No answer. He pushes his thumb up through the hole and tugs.

"...The name's Piers, by the way." Shot in the dark. Hits nothing. The metal band digs into the back of his neck when he pulls harder, proving itself nice and secure as always.

Why'd he have to flap his stupid gob. His Pokémon are on the line, the least he can do for them is swallow his flimsy pride and let the man do his job just as he said. Piers will never forgive himself if his own rash shortsightedness is what lost his team for good.

A rough voice pulls him out of his head. "Piers, huh... Where ya from." Dismissively curious.

His back slackens against the wall and he releases the pressure around his neck. He didn't muck everything up after all, he can recover from this.

"Galar. 'Bout halfway round the world." Thousands of kilometers. Seventeen hour flight. Ten hours of time difference. All that, stacked on top of a week's wait to head back home.

A curt chuckle stabs through the open door. "Knew you were a haole. The fuck are you doin' in Alola?"

A what...? Howley? Whatever, Piers has learned to not bother with picking up local slang. He got tired of trying three regions ago. All he cares about is that the boss seems to not be in the loop about who he is, which is finy by him. He's in no rush to reveal any part of his identity to someone who currently has power over him.

"You could say I'm a tourist." Not false. He is here on tour. "Just landed this mornin', came straight here after what happened."

His foot starts to tap again, but he tries to keep it quiet, ears straining for any audible clue of the state of the other man's mood.

"Guzma from Alola," the boss returns, just a touch more affable. "Born here. Never left."

As if he wasn't able to guess from the Alolan cursing hurled at him from the balcony. At any rate, having a name to a face helps him relax some.

"Guzma..." he tests. "Nice t'meet you."

A cough from inside. Perhaps 'nice' wasn't appropriate... He's so bad at this. Guzma clears his throat. "So, about my—about those kids..."

"Yeah?" He pushes off the wall, head cocked to catch every word.

"There's an abandoned Megamart they could be at. The sewage plant in Malie City would be my next guess. They're a bit of a walk, hope ya don't mind."

Malie? Malie City is where Piers _started_ on Ula'Ula. He remembers the announcement from the ferry on arrival. They have to circle all the way back around this island, walk that whole way again... ugh. It'll all be worth it once he has his Pokémon back. A little morning exercise never killed anyone. No one important enough to make the news anyways.

"What are we waitin' for, then? Let's rock."

. . .

Unlike Nanu, Guzma has them walking fast, so they should get wherever their first stop is in no time at all. Piers is grateful for the swift pace, but it's got a cost thanks to the lovely glowing ball bright in the sky.

Only ten minutes pass before the effects of the rising sun weigh on him almost physically, like the sunbeams are heavy as dousing rain can be and nowhere near as pleasant. Every minute the sun rises higher he becomes more and more conscious of how his body's doing. He's no stranger to sweating under hot lights; the stage is a demanding environment. But all this? The burn, the bake, the warming air that slogs into his lungs reluctantly as can be?

It's a bit much.

He refuses to complain.

At his side, Guzma shows no sign of strain. Of course he's perfectly at ease in the Alolan climate he grew up in, strolling along without breaking a sweat while Piers is starting to seriously suffer.

His cropped jacket comes off first, artificial leather folded over his arm. His tight shirt is sticking to his chest and no amount of plucking and tugging dries it off enough to make the effort worth it.

He'll have to get looser clothes after today. And a pair of sandals, like what that copper wore. Ugh, they make that dumb catchy slapping sound with every step, and he'll look stupid in them, but he's stuck in Alola for an entire bloody week and he refuses to perish from something as mundane as the weather.

An echo from his favorite meteorology know-it-all sets off in his head.

_Hey, don't underestimate the edge you can gain from a weather change! Even a couple degrees can make a difference! There's natural advantages in your natural surroundings._

He scowls and wipes his dripping brow (which doesn't dry his forehead so much as smear the sweat around). If a couple degrees can give you an edge, a whole lot of degrees dumps the whole kitchen drawer onto the table. Choose your fucking weapon and stab away. Anything would be better than the slow-roasted death the sun will surely give him by the time they reach Malie. Going out in flames is only cool when it's not literal heat exhaustion. There's much better ways to kick the bucket. Hell, maybe before he burns to a crisp he'll drown first, in his own sweat. His hair's sticking to his shoulders and it's disgusting.

The swirl of morbid thoughts are interrupted by a sea of swaying red.

Flowers... A whole field. He recalls passing through it with Nanu not long ago, but it was too misty in the early morning to see much, and he was too anxious to bother appreciating any surroundings. Fog still hovers in the lowest pockets of scenery, but the sun burned enough of it away—and he's in a decent enough headspace, that too—so he can finally marvel at the full sight of the meadow.

Honestly, he'll pay attention to anything if it takes his mind off how bloody warm he is.

"Pretty flowers," he mutters. The strange wooden walkways creak underfoot. "They perennial?"

"Sure are." Guzma sounds... not _not_ grumpy, but it's the least grumpy Piers has heard so far.

He gives the gangster a sidelong glance, and raises a subtle brow at the newly softened edges he sees. Might just be an illusion thanks to the peaceful scenery they're passing through.

_Natural advantages in your natural surroundings..._

Piers tracks one of the red blooms as they walk. It has an iconic shape, distinct enough that he recalls seeing it before, on the shirts of some tourist shop near the airport.

He startles when Guzma speaks on his own. "These things're everywhere. Think they're the regional flower here."

The boss is staring out across the sea of blooms, and Piers follows his gaze to take everything in. The small ponds dotting the landscape are clean and glassy and freckled with petals, and the wooden planks of the paths add a very zen quality to it all.

"That so... Good choice, I'd say. 'S pretty."

His Pokémon might like to see this, they love flowers... Skuntank especially. She likes napping in them, harmless as can be. Obstagoon always tries to rip the prettiest ones out of the dirt to present to his trainer, if Piers doesn't catch him in the act and stop him. Not that he could ever get mad at his Pokémon trying to give him things they like, or things they think he'd like. If he ever comes back out here, he'll let them out to explore. He'll have to keep a close eye on Obstagoon, but that's nothing new.

These plans are soothing to make. His Pokémon deserve as much of a vacation as he does after the last Gym Challenge they were put through, not to mention the hellish aftermath. World almost ending and all that. Fun stuff. They'll enjoy being able to frolic about and he'll enjoy watching them. Can't do that until they're safe back with him, though...

"If ya ever come back here there's some pretty good Pokémon ta catch."

Piers passes his guide an intentionally blank look. "Once I have Pokémon to battle with, you mean?" he says with all the delicacy of a cast-iron doily.

"Y-Yeah. Course I meant that." Guzma rubs the back of his neck and looks away. It's satisfying to see him express some embarrassment over that. Shows he's more than just a grouch.

Come to think of it, it has been a good while since Piers had any battles. Since nobody's wanted to challenge him while out on his tour, the last time he's battled was long before he set out, in that rematch his best friend demanded, which makes it ages ago... He might have left his gym behind, but he still enjoys working with his Pokémon. Maybe after he gets them back he really will come back here and confront a few wild ones. See what Alola has to offer.

In the meantime, there's walking. And more walking. The brief conversation they had was oddly cordial and most likely a fluke. He's fine with continuing in silence; it saves him his much-needed breath.

They walk in silence until the path ends on a small beach. Guzma already has his hand in his pocket, hand wrapped around the oldest pokeball he's got.

Water's calm today. Low breeze. Should be a swift ride.

"...You've got a water type, yeah?" Piers doesn't sound too happy about what's coming. Too bad for him this isn't something they can skip.

"Sure do." Guzma tosses the ball in front of him and it bursts open with a glare. "Hey there, buddy."

Seeing his partner always puts him more at ease. God knows he needs it. Golisopod clicks his claws and stares right at the stranger, who's giving him a cautious look right back.

"A Golisopod...?"

Guy's not scared of bugs is he? Tch, typical... Whatever, they're used to it.

"He can get us across in no time at all. Gol, y'know what to do." The Pokémon abandons his staring and slowly walks into the water, shivering at the coldness at first before lying flat down on his front, back ready for riders.

He climbs aboard with a practiced mount and looks over his shoulder. "You comin' or what?"

Stiff, Piers pulls his jacket back on, but doesn't make any move to get closer. He's not actually scared of Gol, right? Guzma knows his buddy is intimidating, but for giving rides across the water he won't pull any antics. If Gol thought Piers was bad news he wouldn't have gotten in the water at all.

Black boots push the sand around and hesitate at the edge of the surf.

"Y-Yeah. Do I just..."

He rolls his eyes and holds his hand out. "C'mon already."

Piers finally reaches out. Their hands clasp together and Guzma hauls him up like he weighs nothing, and he kinda does, even for how tall he is.

"Never ridden one o' these before... Shit!" The sound of a boot slipping on the smooth carapace makes him smirk. His arm tenses to keep Piers from falling into the water, and just in case the guy has trouble getting settled, doesn't let go even once he's up. He can't help but dwell on the contact. Piers' palm is smooth. Soft. There's these weird little calluses on his fingertips that are pressing into the back of Guzma's hand. Wonder what made those.

"Ugh, okay... Think I'm good... ain't used to ridin' anything out on the water."

"Tourist," he mocks.

"Stuff it, I'm tryin' here."

"Well hurry it up, we don't got all day."

"I know that," Piers snaps. "I'm the one who should be rushin' us here, not you."

Damn, he's snippy. Guzma thought hehad a short temper, but this guy is so easy to set off. "And you're still the one holdin' us up."

"I'm doin' my best, alright?" Piers finally settles steady behind him and lets go of his hand. "Biggest Golisopod I've ever seen," he mutters. "He fast?"

Pride swells in his chest. "Fastest Golisopod in Alola, ain'tcha boy?" He pats the shiny shell and smirks over his shoulder. "If ya need ta hold on, grab onta me. Don't want ya fallin' inta the water there, 'cause I ain't about ta jump in after ya."

"And get yourself a murder-through-negligence charge? Oh, no, can't have that," Piers drawls.

Before he can say anything back, a pair of skinny arms wrap around his stomach and a slender body presses against his back.

...Alright. He may have been the one who said to grab on, but he's not used to other people touching him too much. Especially not like _this._ He feels like he's being... big spooned by this tall bastard. His face reddens and he hopes to god it isn't visible from behind.

"A'ight, here we go. Hang on and don't die." The arms around his chest tighten in response. He bites the inside of his lip for a second before catching himself.

Time to get outta here. As fast as possible.

He pats his buddy on its back and shouts a signal to set off. With a ringing screech, Golisopod launches them away from the beach, and they speed away through the sea. The salt-tinged wind through his hair and the cool spray on his skin clear his head into almost a good mood, but the arms hugging tight around his middle don't let him forget why he's out here. They're moving at a blazing fast clip, and the circumstances around the trip does demand the urgency, but he can't help but wonder what it might be like to take his time on the water with someone—who preferably doesn't hate his guts, maybe even likes him—clinging to him like they trust him to never let them fall.

He curls his lip and grimaces into the wind. Yeah right. Like that'll ever happen. Best to get this shit over with so this guy can be sent on his merry way and Guzma can forget that this disaster ever happened.

When they finally reach sweet blessed land, Piers shoves himself off the barely-winded Golisopod and hits the surf-soaked sand on all fours.

Why did they have to go as fast as possible. _Why._ Okay, he knows why, but his churning stomach is oh so delicately suggesting that the speed may not have been worth it. He just... needs a minute... Ugh, the sun on his back is roasting him again already...

Guzma has the audacity to cackle at his misfortune. He hops off his Pokémon and swaggers forward to clap a hand onto Piers' shuddering shoulders.

"You'll get used to it. Eventually." Amusement coats every word.

Piers _wants_ to glare, but he can't raise his head when he feels like he's gonna keel over any second despite having all four limbs on the ground. Honestly, collapsing sounds great, but he has to preserve _some_ dignity here.

"You can shove 'eventually' up your own aaargh—" He can't even finish his curse thanks to the retch threatening his throat.

He's never taking ferries for granted ever again. Alola could really use some Corviknights to fly people around. It's insane that they expect people to walk or travel by sea everywhere. He is not compatible with this place one bit.

Guzma cackles at his suffering and roughly pats him between the shoulderblades before striding back to the shoreline. "Good boy, Gol, think ya made record time there! Impressed our guest real good!"

Piers' hand twitches in the sand. There's a nice single-finger salute he's itching to send Guzma's way, but no way is he taking anything off the ground, not until the world stops spinning.

Footsteps in the sand shuffle closer and closer until they stop right beside him. Can barely see it through his hair. "C'mon, man, I didn't agree to help ya just ta stand around. Get yer ass up."

He delivers part of his answer with a demonstrative wheeze. "I'd love to, believe m—oi!"

A strong arm hooks under his own and drags him up.

If Piers were shorter it would be a more graceful motion, but the best Guzma can manage is awkwardly unfolding him until he's upright enough to drag his weak legs underneath him, kicking up sand and nearly tripping backwards. He stumbles against a sturdy chest and scowls. He can deal with a little manhandling, but not from full-of-it strangers and definitelynot while he's a tilt away from hurling. "Come off it, I don't need your—urgh, your help..."

"Sure looks like it." That cocky voice is right near his ear. Deep. Rough. Amused.

The arm around his waist squeezes and Piers' eyes widen. He needs space _now._

"Let go a' me already!" He pushes against Guzma's chest and fuck, why is it so... muscular. Plush. He drops his hand out of necessity and leans his head away before anything compromising shows on his face. Now is not the time. There never will be a time.

"Ya can hardly stand on yer own! Chill out, sheesh." The gangster growls near the end, refusing to let go. His arm, solid and strong and not unpleasantly warm, tightens again. Stubborn bastard.

As much as Piers is dying to get some space, this isn't worth bickering over, not when it's this h—not when the _sun_ is this hot. And it's true, he'll recover faster upright.

"'M fine on me own, but _fine._ " His wind-dried lips scrape his tongue and he grimaces at the salty taste. He has to distract himself. From everything. The heat, the nausea, the thick padded muscle supporting him. "Where in th' hell are we goin' again?"

"Right over there." Guzma gestures at a small village up the path that he only now notices. "That's Tapu Village. The abandoned Megamart ain't too far from there. We're almost done walkin', don't worry."

Lovely. They better get started soon instead of standing here baking. His irritation is ratcheting higher with every sweaty degree. The sun's scorching them now that they're not flying through the water, and it doesn't help that the man supporting him is so bloody warm.

"Okay, you can let go a' me now," he testily says, and leans away from Guzma, who finally lets him go.

He stands on his own just fine. There, see? Totally recovered.

"Let's get on, then."

Piers takes a confident step and the world tilts one way while his stomach tilts another. Guzma tries catching him again, but Piers knocks his hands away and staggers to find stability on his own. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!

Guzma holds his hands up in faux surrender while he tears his pleather jacket off and hunches over with his arm wrapped around his middle. He finds a pebble to glare at and spends his remaining energy on taking steady, deep breaths to settle his stomach and straighten his thoughts out. Don't heave. Don't heave, they've got to get moving, Obstagoon and the rest are waiting on him... Be strong...

Okay. This guy's a lost cause. He might as well pretend Piers is fine if he's gonna act like this. Guzma clicks his tongue and stands aside, watching the tourist try and recover.

This whole quest better be over fast. Don't wanna drag this asshole everywhere over the water if he's gonna be this much of a priss.

A strange blend of a weak growl and groan hangs in the air, and Piers hunches over further. Masses of black and white hair slip over his shoulders to hang over the ground. Gives Guzma something to think about.

He paid it no mind before now, but they've got similar hair colors. Well, his is bleached, but still, it counts. Is Piers' natural? He kinda hopes so, because the implication that they'd have anything in common is honestly kind of annoying. They're not friends and he doesn't plan on changing that.

He sighs and takes his eyes off the seasick Piers. They can afford to wait one more minute. Not like his brats are gonna hurt the Pokémon or anything. The hell did they steal them for, anyways? There's no more need for them to do that. He sure as hell made it clear as day that he didn't want them doing any more thieving after Lu—... after everything that happened.

"A'ight, fair warning. The mart place is crawlin' with ghosts. So if ya spook easy, I can go in by myself, see if those kids're there. Drag 'em out for yan if they are."

Piers sucks in a deep breath and lifts his head to squint. "No, I'm goin' too. I wanna see with me own eyes." He groans and straightens all the way up, and pushes his crazy hair back over his shoulders. "Not gonna let anyone be my proxy. I'm gettin' my team back."

Guzma crosses his arms and closes his eyes at the conviction. Reminds him of the trainers that would challenge him to get their Pokémon back. Who's he to get in the way of that?

"A'ight. Jus' don't come runnin' to me cryin' when a Haunter jumps out at ya."

A scoff. "I don't scare easy. Wouldn'a been able to call myself a Gym Leader if I was scared by any challenger's Pokémon." A pause. "Or any coworker's."

Piers finally starts shuffling towards Tapu Village, a little unsteady on his feet, but moving nonetheless. Guzma shoves his hands in his pockets and strolls after the...

Wait. _Gym Leader?_ Guzma's been walking around with a Galarian Gym Leader this whole time? To help him find... his...

...Oh, _fuck._

His kids didn't steal any random tourist's Pokémon.

His kids stole a _foreign Gym Leader's_ Pokémon.

They are in such deep shit if he can't get them back. This goes way beyond what he was prepared to handle. No wonder Piers was so pissed, his ability to battle is literally his livelihood, with a professionally trained team and everything. Fuck, what if this gets them in trouble with the Galarian Pokémon League? He's gotta stand in front of his kids if that happens, no way is he gonna let any kind of hammer come down on them even if they should have known better than to steal.

Without letting any new dread show on his face, Guzma jogs to catch up. He's looking at the skinny bastard in a new light now. Gym Leader... He's never had the opportunity to meet a real one before. Under literally any other circumstance, he might have been excited, but all it is now is cause for concern.

He's gotta get more intel. Learn more about who he's dealing with.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and side-eyes the taller man. "So, yer a... big shot Gym Leader, huh? Got a specialization?"

Hopefully not a type his kids aren't used to dealing with... They got in way over their heads with this, those little dumbasses. He's really starting to worry now.

Irritation flickers over Piers' face at the probing. This isn't a topic he'd have fun discussing even on the best of days. Nothing he's done as a Gym Leader merits any praise. 

" _Was_ a Gym Leader. I retired. Weren't no big shot neither," he says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

At his side, Guzma rakes his fingers through his hair and shakes his head in... what, disbelief? Piers looks off to the side to put him out of his peripherals, and hopefully out of mind.

Tapu Village is what this place is called? Miniscule place. Kind of creepy with all the overgrown stone totems near the path. Lots of building remains, too... If only he didn't get the feeling something bad happened here, he'd call this place quaint.

"Retired, really? Ya look too young for that," Guzma prods. "Woulda figured you were still in the game."

He grimaces. "I can retire for any reason I please."

"Why though? 'S a huge thing, ain't it? Most trainers would love ta be in that position."

Yeah, _most_ is the key word there. Piers didn't love it one bit. It was his placeholder career, a crutch, both for him, his sister, and his town. He did his best, but... it's hard to love something when you know you don't deserve it. Piers hunches and throws his jacket over a shoulder.

The nosy wanker walks closer and presses on. "Don't tell me ya threw that shit away for no reason."

"I don't need to explain meself," he snaps. "But since you're so bloody curious about shit that ain't your business, I passed the gym on to someone more worthy of the spot."

And she'll do far better than he ever could. Marnie's capable of doing everything he failed to do as Spikemuth's Gym Leader, he knows she is. Despite losing out on her dream of being Champion, she's been nothing but proud to take on the position in their hometown, and has the support of everyone around her. Besides, things are different in Galar, now. Things won't be the same now that their League has a new chairman. One who isn't interested in keeping Spikemuth leashed via noose. That thought calms him down slightly. He might not have had a good relationship with his old job, but things are better now. Far better. Marnie will have a much easier time than he did.

A huff yanks him out of his thoughts.

"Just askin', geez... No need ta bite my head off." The tone of Guzma's voice is similar to when he told Piers to just let him help at the beach. Defensive, irritated. Frustrated with him.

...And rightly so. Piers is doing it again, letting his bad mood wreck an otherwise ambivalent conversation. Man was understandably curious, and Piers' situation is an objectively odd one. He closes his eyes for a few steps and rubs his burning shoulder. The only thing he can think of to prevent their chat from ending on a bad note is answering Guzma's very first question...

"...Dark," he belatedly reveals. "I'm a dark type trainer."

No response yet. Just like the time this morning, back in that rickety manor, when he burned Guzma's patience down to a stub, only this time he's got less of an excuse for being an arse.

They go a few dozen more steps before Guzma gives him an answer.

"Dark type, huh... Old man Nanu's a dark type too. He loves Alolan Meowths."

Piers' shoulders relax. Conversation isn't ruined after all. Guzma's really pulling his weight here, changing the subject and everything... Piers needs to get with the program and do the same.

"Nanu, er... got a gym around the island somewhere?" He has no interest in challenging the old man. A foreign dark type gym would be interesting to check out, that's all. Plus the fact that a copper works with dark types got his attention plenty.

"Nah, we don't have gyms here. Nanu wouldn't be a Gym Leader anyways, he's a Kahuna. Already got a job."

"No gyms?" He raises a brow. "Alola doesn't have a League branch?"

The concept of a region not having gyms is wild. He's never heard of any other systems for trainers to formally test themselves against. What do they do here?

Guzma answers the unsaid questions without being asked, preceded by a roll of his eyes and a jerk of his head to indicate a turn they should take, down a short slope towards a black sand beach.

"We got a league now, but gyms? Nope. We've got these Island Trials instead. There's about seven ya have ta get through, and this Mega Mart is usually the site for the Ghost Trial. Yer given a task, and ya have ta complete it. If ya do, ya win. Usually it involves fightin' a strong Pokémon."

Guzma's disdain is as clear as the sky over their heads, and Piers listens with attentive fascination.

"Personally, I hate 'em. I think it's time we ditch 'em and build gyms like everyone else has. Alola's fuckin' backwards. Hell, we used to not even have a champion. Or an Elite Four, can ya believe that?"

Piers hums in surprise. Not even a champion...

He can't imagine Galar not having a champion. Leon was the face of the Galarian League for nearly as long as Piers has been a Gym Leader, the image of perfection and unattainable power. He's not at the top spot anymore, though. Some kid trounced his cape-wearing arse after wrecking every Leader in the Challenge _and_ crushing the Champion Cup. He hasn't heard how Leon's doing after that beyond the surface knowledge of the whole Battle Tower thing... not really his place to find out, either. They were never close. Never will be, either. Piers' time amongst anyone who could be called a coworker is over and done with, save for one special exception.

"Galar doesn't have an Elite Four either. Our old champion held the title for ages, but, well... There'll always be someone younger 'n more talented to take the stage."

"Our champion's already young and talented." Guzma rounds his shoulders. "Don't see anyone knockin' her outta the seat anytime soon."

He can't help but wonder how Marnie would do if she took a crack at Alola's system. She'd crush it, he knows, might even give Alola's current champion a run for her money, but he also knows Marnie wouldn't be interested in trying. She's thrown herself into managing the Spikemuth Gym, all without her big brother guiding her anymore now that he's off overseas. He spent the first few weeks of his tour worrying every second he wasn't on stage, all about how Marnie might be doing without him there, but after enough phone calls and texts she finally got it into his head that she's doing just fine.

God, he's so proud of her.

Once his final concert is done and he's back home in Galar, the first thing he plans to do is challenge his sister to a match to see how much she's grown while he was away. She'll wipe the floor with him, he knows it already, but he still wants to experience her new strength firsthand. And it's not like there's nothing he can't still teach her with the years of experience he has on her. Piers' chest is warm just thinking about seeing her again. He's so proud. Misses her every day.

The black sand underfoot is warm even through his boots. He's never seen a beach like this before, but he likes the look of it. Easier on the eyes, if not hard on literally everything else. This whole beach is blanketed in a new level of heat and he can't wait to get away from it and into the mart.

"If you build any gyms here in Alola, would you give 'em a go? Earn yourself some badges?" He wipes his brow and grimaces at the moisture. "Maybe even aim for that champion's spot?" Guzma seems to falter, but it's so brief that Piers can't say for what.

"I tried." The words are as stiff as his walk. "Didn't exactly go as planned."

Tried what? Not the gyms, there are none. The championship...?

There's options laid out on the conversational platter, and he doesn't know which one's the right choice. Or which ones would taste horrible, or be poison entirely. He opts for something bland and most likely safe, and offers it up.

"That so."

"...Yeah."

Awkward silence. Great. He's collecting a wonderful track record for socialization today. It was going so well, too! But of course he makes a blunder before long, that's how it always goes. He's pants at this. Maybe a heat death wouldn't be so bad if it could be spontaneous.

Why did Piers have to ask about that...

Guzma doesn't want to go into his failed attempts at being the best in Alola. They hardly know each other and it's a heavy topic for him. A _really_ heavy topic. Maybe if they happened to somehow become friends, he might be able to talk about it, but no way will that ever happen, because he's not in the market for new friends anyways. He's big bad Guzma, and big bad Guzma don't need nobody but himself. So what if he's been a little lonely with Plumes off doing her own thing. It's not like he's been yearning for companionship or anything. That'd be pathetic.

His steps grind into the sand a little harder than necessary. Piers is silent at his side, and he doesn't know if he's thankful for it or not.

They climb the stairs up to the mart and halt right in front of the doors. It looks the same as Guzma remembers. That is to say, haunted as fuck, even on a bright sunny morning. The windows are so filthy it's impossible to see inside, and weeds of all kinds are pushing up the edges. The doors are dusty and look completely dysfunctional to anyone who doesn't know better. Around the building, even the fucking air is stale and foreboding. Breathing it too long is bad luck, or so people say.

Guzma shoves his way inside without hesitation. All sounds of nature fall away as they cross the dusty threshold, and he leaves all his troubling thoughts behind too. Time to focus.

The interior of the mart is shaded and cool. It's also dim as hell, save for the bold streak of sunlight falling into the mart alongside their forced entrance. Dust swirls with every step they take, dancing across the border of light and shadow before getting dragged to the floor under their own grimy weight. In the corner of his vision, Piers shivers, and pulls his jacket back on. He's doing a good job of staying quiet in those boots of his. Makes it easy to listen for any signs of his brats.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles. Tch. Ghosts. Piers said he's no pussy, but the bastards in here can be vicious. Maybe if they're quick they won't tempt anything watching to fuck with them.

He squints harder at the floor. Footsteps in the dust. Two pairs, leading in but not out. His hunch was right, those brats definitely came here, and unless they teleported out, they're lurking around here somewhere.

They pick their way further in. Still nothing. Those punks better be in the back.

His hand issues a silent command. Follow and stay as quiet as possible. He gets a scowl in return, but Piers doesn't talk back to being ordered around. At least the guy knows how to listen when it matters.

Once they're halfway in, hushed whispering reaches his ears that gets louder and clearer the deeper they creep.

"Yo, it's supposed to be back here. What's the deal?"

"Maybe it got scared off by Malamar and Scrafty?"

_He has a fuckin' Malamar?_

"Yeah, they were kinda crazy when we let 'em out..."

He glances behind him. Piers is standing straight at attention, eyes wide and lips parted.

"That's them!" Piers whispers. "Scrafty 'n Mal are mine!"

Got it. Time to make his big entrance and end this shit.

He only gets to take one step forward before a Ghastly explodes into existence all up in his face, tongue whipping inches from his nose. He jumps out of his skin nearly as fast as his heart jumps out of his chest and completely blows their cover with a shout.

"Son of a fuck!"

The Ghastly cackles and blazes between them to plunge through a broken shelf. That scared the shit out of him, god!

Wait—

Ah, fuck.

"Someone's here!"

"Shit, run!"

"No ya fuckin' don't!" Before they can dash past on their way out the back room, Guzma snatches them by the backs of their shirts. Their feet fly off the ground and they go down with twin shouts, and their momentum drags him to tip and fall along with them. It's not a graceful fall, he's definitely bruised his damn tailbone. The dust flies around them and he hacks up half a lung keeping it out. Doesn't stop it from getting all over his clothes, though. Great. He just cleaned his shit and now he's gotta do it again later. Big bad Guzma ain't afraid to get down and dirty, but who knows what's in this shit. Piers better be grateful for this.

Relief pierces his heart once the brief action is over. These are definitely the two lads who knocked into him this morning. His Pokémon are safe at last.

"No runnin' away for you. Jig's up." He crouches over them and grabs the shirts of the two... boys? These really are just kids!

Yeah, Guzma's referred to them as kids before, and Piers knew they were teenagers at least, but he didn't think they were _this_ young. Their faces are still round and everything. They can't be any older than the brats back home, nor any older than Marnie...

Some of the steam leaves him, but Piers remains stern. Kids or not, they still stole his Pokémon and gave him such a serious scare he wouldn't be surprised if he got some grey mixed with the black and white on his head over these next few weeks.

"You two need to give back what you stole from me. Where are my Pokémon?" His voice swells to fill the hollowness of the building.

The two boys struggle in their panic, but Guzma wrangles his limbs around them to stop them from getting anywhere.

"D-Don't know what you're talking about!"

"Let us go!"

Damn, they're really squeaking. They look terrified. He should ease up on them; it's not like they're going anywhere. Piers lets go of their shirts and stiffly straightens, dragging his hand down his face. Just a couple of unruly tykes... not worth all this fuss. Certainly not worth his anger.

He stares at Guzma through his fingers, then back to the kids. After a hard-earned sigh, he drops his hand and tries again in a less intense voice. He could never stay harsh with kids.

"Come on, you've been caught. Fess up."

The boy on the right thrashes in Guzma's hold (to no effect) and does his best to intimidate with a glare (also to no effect; he's seen Wooloo with scarier mugs).

"I ain't no snitch!"

Oi... "I already know you have my Pokémon. Come clean so I don't have to report nothin'. I'd much rather settle this here than get any authorities involved."

Lucky for him, the threat of being taken to Nanu does wonders. The two finally give him a proper look, and ohhh yes, the way they swallow tells Piers they recognize him as the man they wronged.

"Please don't take us to Nanu!" Lefty pleads. He seems the more timid of the two.

"Let us go already!" Mister No-Snitch on the right tries once again to be more tough. The bravado is enough to inspire Lefty to get back in the game, and they both start thrashing again, not that they get very far.

"Stop tryin' ta get away!" Guzma barks. "You ain't goin' nowhere, and you're in big fuckin' trouble soon as we're done here, understand?"

Both boys freeze. Did they not realize who was holding them...?

"B-Boss? Oh, fuck..." Righty slumps and squeezes his eyes shut in a grimace of defeat. All the fight's gone out of him.

Lefty stammers. "We didn't—Boss, please don't be—"

This is getting off topic. Piers lifts his hand up flat to silence them and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Enough. First thing's first, give me my Pokémon back and then you can worry about what your boss wants to do with ya."

The two brats gulp. They glance at each other, then at the man holding them in place, then back up at him. Finally, Lefty shudders and drops his gaze. "We... yeah, we have them here." An admission of guilt at last.

"They were real mad when we let 'em out," Righty grumbles, "so we put 'em both back in their balls."

Mad? No, disoriented and confused, more like. Especially poor anxious Scrafty. And Mal's always tetchy no matter what, especially around anyone who isn't him. Skuntank's a laid back gal, but Goony... Wait. He said both. Both as in two. Two as in _not four._

Piers' choker clinks as he stoops forward. "You've got Malamar an' Scrafty here, yeah?" The kids lean back at his sudden invasion of their space, and nod, uneasy. His chest clenches with fresh worry. "Where are Skuntank and Obstagoon?"

Lefty's eyes grow wide. "You have an _Obstagoon?_ That's so coo—... I- I mean! I dunno!"

He doesn't know about Obstagoon? They don't have—that's impossible! They're the ones who stole him! Voice high with panic, Piers straightens in disbelief. "Are you sayin' ye don' have all four?"

"N-No! We—"

"Ya stole his entire team, didn't ya?" Guzma loosens his arm in surprise, but tightens up again when Righty tries to slip away. Tenacious little thing.

The boy growls when he can't budge. "Our friends have 'em. We split up and took two each! Ya happy now?"

Oh, over the fucking moon. At least it's roughly known where they are, even if that 'where' is as vague as 'with these people.' Enough of this chatter, he needs to focus on the two within reach.

"Guzma, I'll be right back. Gotta see if they're okay."

"Yeah yeah," the boss growls. "I've got these punks."

The two teens go pale at the idea of being alone with their boss. Too bad for them.

Piers leaves the little Skull party behind and shuffles deeper into the mart, scanning the floor for any Dusk Balls hiding amidst the dim light and dust. No ghosts better jump out at him, he's not in the mood for any antics...

Rounding a stack of half-crushed boxes, he spots them. Two pokeballs on the grimey floor, twitching and rocking in distress, no doubt anxious after hearing his voice. He rushes forward and falls to his knees, sliding a few inches on the dusty linoleum until he's in reach of his friends. It might only be two out of four, but the weight of them in his hands is enough to dissipate the unease that shadowed him all morning. Back at last!

"Come on out, my stars!"

Twin bursts of light cast the mart into harsh shadows. One forms into a knee-high Scrafty clutching its skin and trying to look tough, while the other towers over everything as she floats as high as she can without hitting the ceiling, narrowed eyes scanning the area for any immediate threat. God, what a sight for tired eyes.

"Mal! Scrapper!" At the sound of his voice they focus on him and he breaks into the first smile he's smiled since setting foot on these damn islands. He jumps to his feet to give Malamar a loving embrace around her flashing mantle. She allows it, a testament to how much she missed him too.

"Are you both alright?" He breaks away so he can bend down and inspect his Scrafty, poor thing is always nervous in new environments. "I've got you now. I'm so sorry for lettin' 'em take you, loves. I understand if you're pissed off at me, I deserve it for lettin' this 'appen."

One of Malamar's arms rests on his head as she chitters and slowly lowers herself to float at her usual level. Scrafty toddles closer, and presses his crest on his leg. Another dose of relief shakes his body loose. They're not mad at him. And thank god, they seem physically fine... He sighs around his smile, ragged and grateful, and pats Scrafty's crest with a smile.

Everything's alright here. They're okay, meaning he'll be okay too.

"They're unharmed!" he calls over his shoulder before focusing back on his Pokémon and trading more reassuring touches.

"I've got you now. Ain't lettin' anyone take you ever again."

Piers' confirmation broke the last of Guzma's minimal restraint. It was hard as fuck letting Piers do all that interrogating, but he had his hands full keeping the kids from escaping. Kaleo and Makamae are slippery little fuckers. Fastest kids in Po Town, at least before they left the gang. They look no different than the day they left. Hell, they're still wearing the old Skull threads. Really couldn't give up the old life, huh. Disappointment broils in his chest. They fucked up immensely.

"You two brats," he snarls. He stands and hauls both boys up by the collars of their shirts. "Ya got any idea what ya did? Or did you fuckin' start shit without thinking? Huh?"

"Boss, we were only—" Kaleo stammers, getting his feet under him but not daring to make any move to push away.

"I don't wanna hear it. This shit ain't right, ya know what you've done?" His hands tighten in their shirts. "The trouble ya nearly got yourselves in?"

Light footsteps intrude into their bubble. "Guzma, we need to find my other—"

"Stay outta this," he snaps without taking his eyes off his kids. "Ya got what ya came for, now I gotta do what _I_ came for."

"What? Don't scare them any more'n they already are," Piers hisses. "Look at them."

He reluctantly gives his kids a closer look. They're both breathing heavy, Kaleo shaking a little and Makamae with his brave face on, the kind he only makes when he's really scared. Regret washes over him and loosens his hands. Shit...

He lets go of the boys' shirts and they topple back, scrambling away until their backs hit the wall, fear radiating from every tense limb.

Son of a bitch. How's he supposed to do this... He can't be soft on them, but he doesn't wanna be too harsh. Runaways or not, they're still his kids. His arms cross over his chest and he grimaces in frustration. What to fucking do. Piers might want to get a move on but he can't leave his kids here without getting some kind of lesson across.

"Apologize," he ends up snarling.

The boys take a moment to find their voices.

"W-We're sorry..." Kaleo leans against his friend for support.

"Super sorry," Makamae mumbles with an angry set to his face. Neither of them are looking him in the eye.

"Sorry for what?" His lips pull back. "And to who?"

"S-... Sorry for stealing again... To both you, and... and the mister over there." Kaleo shrinks against the wall.

"We weren't gonna do anything bad with 'em. We'd find a way to give 'em back." Maka crosses his arms and sinks lower, not caring that his friend slips and half-falls on him. "We just wanted to catch a Mimikyu first," he grumbles.

...A Mimikyu.

Whatever goodwill he had remaining vanishes.

A _Mimikyu._

All his hard work at raising Team Skull's reputation would have been ruined just because these two wanted to catch a Pokémon? These numbskulls! He marches up to them and drops into his infamous crouch. The kids press themselves against the wall, suddenly tense. Nowhere to run.

"You two. I've worked _hard_ to bring a good name ta our team, and what you two did? Nearly fucked our new rep! Ya nearly ruined _everything!_ And for what?" The rant spills out of him and his voice pushes louder and louder. "To catch yerselves a Mimikyu? That don't make a lick of sense!"

"We just thought that..." Kaleo's voice quavers. He can't finish his sentence, choosing instead to lean hard against his friend. "W-We're sorry, boss... Please don't be mad..."

"Too fuckin' late for that!"

Kaleo cowers, while Maka, always the tough kid, clenches his hands with a thousand yard stare past Guzma's shoulder. Something in his chest pangs seeing them like this. He never wants his kids to look like that, but here they are, in this paralyzed state because of him.

Shit... He went too far. He's not supposed to be the big angry boss anymore. What's he doing, yelling at them like this? They already apologized. He's supposed to be doing better for them now. Lead by example. These two haven't seen the new leaf he's turned since they cut from the gang, so they still see him as the boss they remember from way back when. Time to show them shit's different now.

He lays a hand on each of their flinching shoulders and they close their eyes, but no more yelling comes. Instead, their boss pulls them into double one-armed hugs and holds them tight.

"B-Boss?" They shift in his hold, too scared to squirm.

He needs them to realize he's _not_ the same guy anymore, that he's a changed man for good.

"Look... What you did was wrong. But if gettin' a Mimikyu means _that_ much to ya, I'll catch the damn thing myself," he growls without any heat behind it. "Now tell us where we can find the rest of the missin' Pokémon."

They fidget in his arms. He pulls away from the hug, hands still on their shoulders, and gives them a squint. "Well?"

"We... we don't wanna get them in trouble..." Kaleo admits.

That's kinda tough, 'cause they're already in trouble. Just because he's cutting these two a little slack right now doesn't mean everyone's going to get off scot free. He's not surprised that there's more of them involved. If his hunch is right, then it's bound to be the other two kids who left the team not even a day after these two did.

Footsteps scuff up behind him and the boys stiffen again. He pulls away and looks up over his shoulder at Piers. Guy doesn't look any more angry than Guzma is right now, but he does look hella impatient.

So the boss can be kind after all... Heartwarming, but he'd rather any character development happen after he gets the rest of his team back. Hard to be touched by a kind scene when Obstagoon and Skuntank are still missing.

Piers shuffles up to the cute reunion and the boys start cowering once more as he kneels next to their boss. Ugh, he never meant to make any kids scared of him... He feels awful for raising his voice at the start. To hopefully make up for things, he rests a gentle hand atop Lefty's head. 

"Where are your friends?"

The boys give him cautious stares as they adapt to his mood shift.

Guzma huffs. "Spit it out, your operation's already busted."

"...Sewage plant." Righty sighs in defeat. "They went to the sewage plant in Malie. They wanted to catch a Garbodor."

Piers raises a brow. Guzma's intuition was on the money. He must know his kids really well to have read their movements with the minimal information they had at the time.

Sewage plant, eh... Skuntank might not mind being taken to a place like that, but Obstagoon would definitely have objections to fighting somewhere that reeked with unfamiliar scents. Goony's always had a particularly sensitive nose, and gets stressed when he can't use it. The important thing is that they aren't being sold or hurt. Just... taken by misled kids to try and catch something for themselves. There's no danger, no risk. They're safe.

Looks like he won't have to cancel his show after all. During his crisis this morning the concert seemed trivial, disposable, but he's glad he can go through with it now. It would be terrible if he wasn't able to follow through on every show of his first inter-regional tour.

"Show must go on..." he mutters to himself. "Thanks, you two."

Recognition, a level deeper than merely remembering Piers as the man they stole from, seems to spark in Righty's eyes, while the other boy fidgets on his hands and hesitantly speaks up.

"Are you... really gonna take us to the Kahuna?" The boys shift closer to each other. The prospect of being dragged to Nanu is really hanging over their sorry heads. After witnessing everything he has, Piers would feel like an arse if he took things further than this.

"Are ya?" Guzma asks. He's looking at Piers with narrowed flint-chip eyes. This suddenly feels like a test, but Piers knows how he'll answer.

Rogue team members going off and causing trouble on their own... and getting chewed out by their leader once caught. How familiar. The answer's a no-brainer. He sighs again and reaches out again, this time with both hands, to gently tousle their heads.

"Your boss already scolded you, and you're clearly sorry." He rises, joints cracking. "I've got no more issues with you lot. I'm happy endin' this here."

Surprise loosens Guzma's face. The boys brighten up, but it doesn't last long before Piers gets serious again.

"But I don't want to see any more stealin' while I'm in Alola, got it?" He tilts his head back and glares admonishingly downwards. The kids shrink again under the weight of it. "If you're in need of Pokémon that bad, I can help you too. But only if you don't use 'em nefariously."

Their eyes widen, and at his side, Guzma turns to give him an even more incredulous look. "What, really? You'd do that for 'em?"

"I ain't one fer empty promises." He shrugs off their surprise and hides his discomfort at being stared at so hard. Is it really that hard to believe...? It's no trouble to him. He's got experience catching Pokémon that are good for kids. And besides, the lads remind him of Spikemuth. Just a bit. Not having access to the right means of doing things, having to improvise to get along. That was him, long ago. If there's anything he can do to help people in similar situations, he'll do it, especially, _especially_ if they're so young. It's often the simple stuff that ends up mattering the most.

The simple things are what stuck with him the most, at least. An offered lunch. A handshake of respect. A go on someone else's guitar.

The rowdy lad on the right narrows his eyes. "Your accent... Are you from Galar?"

"Spikemuth born and raised," he answers automatically.

He's met with three blank looks.

Right...

He sighs and rubs his shoulder. "Galar, yeah."

"Then—" Lefty gasps and grabs onto his friend, giving him a shake and looking up with starry eyes. "Are you Piers? _The_ Piers?"

They know him? Who knew he had any fans in Alola... Then again, who knew he had fans in any other regions, period. He kept getting surprised on his tour, with the amount of tickets he sold and the number of people wanting pictures or autographs or showing off the odd merchandise they got from his tiny online store. It was humbling and he didn't have a big head to begin with.

He nods with a tug on his choker. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to people recognizing him. He never had this sort of excitement aimed his way when he was a Gym Leader, not that he deserved any for that.

He wonders if these kids would have stolen from him if they realized who he was this morning. No matter. What's done is done and they're halfway to fixing it.

The hell? His kids know who Piers is? Maybe they just keep up with foreign leagues, but Piers is retired.

"So then—is it true? Is your thing really happening here in Alola?" Maka says.

Guzma eyes the Galarian with suspicion. What thing? He hates being out of the loop.

Piers hides _something_ behind a fake cough. "Well, it nearly stopped happenin' when I thought I might not get my Pokémon back. But it's all sorted, now. So yeah."

His kids shove off the wall to sit on their knees, heads bowed in shame, and cry out in tandem, "We're sorry!"

Piers' expression softens. "It's alright, no harm done. I forgive you. Chins up."

That fond look strikes Guzma right in the chest even if it's not aimed at him. Fuck, having someone look at his kids like that is... it's unfamiliar. But good. They need stuff like that, other adults who treat them nicely and give them second chances. Piers might be a cool guy after all. Maka and Kaleo sure as hell seem to think so.

Can't let them think they're off the hook just because Piers forgives them, though.

He sticks a hard look back onto his boys. "You two get back to Po Town."

They startle. "You... want us back?"

"What kinda question is that? As long as you want a place in the gang, there's room for ya. I know everyone missed your sorry asses." Himself included. Not that he's gonna say that. "I better see ya there when I get back. I'm gonna put ya to work alongside everyone else." Even if they apologized, he's still disappointed in them, but he's gonna make sure they get—and stay—on the right path. "Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" They chime in unison, relief ringing through their voices, and jostle each other as they stand. "B-Bye Piers! Good luck with your—bye!"

When they both scamper off, dust settling behind in their wake, Guzma side-eyes the sudden mystery man. "What the hell were they talkin' about with you?"

Piers isn't looking at him. He's watching the boys' blurred forms through the dusty windows, fiddling with that choker. "Er... An event in five days I've got t'be ready for. Wasn' expectin' them to know about it."

So he's the evasive type. God, Guzma doesn't have the patience for this. He hates people not telling him shit. "Just spit it out already. Is it somethin' embarrassin' or what?"

"Fine, since you're askin'." He wants to throw his arms in the air. He's _been_ asking! "It's a concert. Over at the Royal Avenue stadium. The Royal Dome, I think it's called?"

What? That can't be right. The only thing the Dome hosts are battle royales. "The hell are you talkin' about?"

"A rock concert," Piers repeats with annoyance lacing his voice, hand fidgeting harder. "You're welcome to come if you'd like, I wouldn't make you buy a ticket if you wanted to check it out. Not when you've helped me like this." His other hand rests on his belt and brushes against the recovered pokeballs. "I'm grateful 'n not gonna forget your help."

The acknowledgement of his help does something weird to his chest. He pushes it away so he can process what he was just told. Free tickets... to a legit music concert over at Royal Ave. Someone other than Masked Royal is gonna take the stage, is what all that means.

"Heh. Well, maybe I'll think about it. I'm jus' glad they're finally usin' that stadium for somethin' new."

So maybe Piers is one of those groupies. Or a technician or... sound tech or something. His kids know more about music shit than he does.

"Dunno why they gave me such a big venue... I don't need nearly that much space to sing."

The realization smacks him like a wet glove to the face.

_Tourist my **ass**!_

"So not only are ya a Gym Leader—"

" _Ex-_ Gym Leader..."

"But yer a musician too? Ya famous or somethin'?" He doesn't really keep with the times. He knows a few Skull girls are huge fans of this up and coming rockstar, but he never paid any attention to any of that gossip. Kaleo and Maka sure as hell knew him, and he didn't even know they were that into music.

"'M not _that_ famous. This is only my first crack at tourin'. Singin's always been my passion over battlin' an' now that I ain't tied to a gym, I can finally pursue it as a career. I'm here in Alola as my final stop 'fore I head back home. Satisfied now?"

"Y-Yeah. Tons." To hide the embarrassment making its way to his face, Guzma walks away. "We ah, better make our way outta here. Don't wanna piss off any more ghosts by stickin' around too long."

Thank god Piers rolls with the subject change. "Sewage plant, right?"

"Yeah. It's another far walk, but don't worry, we don't have ta swim this time. No seasickness for ya." He teases to get the upper hand back, and bumps Piers' side with his elbow.

Piers clicks his tongue, fires a retort, and shoves him back with no hesitation, and the casual jostling has his stomach rolling in a weird way, just like the gratitude did earlier.

He tries not to think about it.

They exit the cool shade of the mart and are assaulted by daylight and clogging humidity that slams into every exposed inch of his skin, oppressive and heavy on the covered parts, too. The Alolan sun is harsh and high in the sky and the view of the sapphire sea is blinding. The black beach is the only thing he can look at without hurting his eyes.

Piers cringes and covers his brow. The back of his hand starts roasting immediately. This is unlike any weather Piers has been in, and he easily decides that he hates it. He's always hated the sun, but the sun he hated in Galar might as well have been a flickering light bulb compared to this.

"Bloody hell, we weren't in there too long, how'd it get so fuckin' hot?" He curses and squints when he lowers his hand. It's looking pink already.

"Looks like an average day to me."

Lovely.

He's starting to sweat just standing here. He peels his jacket off again and the sun slams into his exposed arms and shoulders, no mercy given to his sheet-white arse. There's really no winning, but getting a little burned is better than heatstroke, right? No, he can't perform on stage if he's red all over and peeling. Fuck, if only he had sunscreen. SPF _Pasty Spikemuth Bastard._ Soon as this adventure's over he's heading to the nearest shop to buy their whole stock and slather himself in it.

The black sand beach is even worse on the return trip; it's like slogging across an electric stovetop with all four burners cranked to max.

He eyes Guzma's all-black outfit with grimacing incredulity. "How the hell d'you wear _that_ in this heat?"

Guzma shrugs. "I was born here, so I'm used to it."

"Well aren't you lucky." He groans and pulls his jacket over his shoulders like a cape to shield him partially from the sun. Maybe Leon was on to something with that fur-rimmed atrocity. Not that Piers would ever say it to his face. He'd get sunburned by that fucking smile alone should their paths ever cross.

Guzma leads them down a new path out of Tapu Village. One without any trees or shade. The only blessing is the humidity's going down, assumedly thanks to the giant mountains catching all the water in the wind on the other side. Dry air or not, it's still so bloody hot. No moisture to buffer the sun's rays coming down. It's a straight shot from burning ball of fire to Piers' vulnerable skin.

There's plenty of people who'd be better suited to this place than he is...

Kabu's never been one to be swayed by the heat. Piers has never once seen Opal look physically uncomfortable anywhere in her life, however the old bat manages. Raihan would be loving all the varied geography this place has got, and these new temperature ranges. And Nessa would probably like the open expanse of ocean and whatever weird fish Pokémon are found within these stranger waters. Those two wouldn't scorch as easy as him, that's for sure, not that they wouldn't still need sunscreen. Piers sticks out like a sore thumb here. Gonna be red as one too, soon.

God, he must really be homesick—or maybe the heat's doing funny things to his head, hah—if he's thinking about his old colleagues this much. Doubtful that they're sparing him the same amount of thought. He wouldn't want them to anyways, with one sharp-toothed exception...

As they hike the gritty path, the only sounds around are that of shoes grinding into the dirt, and before long, Piers' increasingly strained and heavy breathing.

Mister Galarian Rockstar here is clearly not alright.

They set off just fine, determined to reach Malie and wrap up this fetch quest, but Guzma's starting to worry about how much the guy is being exposed to the sun. Guy looks fucking miserable. He's pale as a ghost, no way is any of this good for him. The only thing he can think to do is offer the guy his jacket. He's never loaned it out to anyone before, but he's never been around someone who looks like they're two degrees from burning to a crisp, either.

He checks around to get his bearings. They're on Route Twelve, so they should be in Malie in no time at all, but 'no time' for him might be a fatal eternity for Piers. The footsteps at his side scuff hard on a small incline and Piers sways. Okay, yeah, he should give the guy his hoodie already. This is just a one-time thing since he feels so sorry for him. Can't have anyone passing out on his watch. It'd make him look bad, that's all.

"Hey, uh, d'ya want my jacket instead of yours? It'll protect ya from the heat better." It breathes better than whatever leather thing is around his shoulders.

"Nah mate, I can't take yer own away from ye," Piers pants. "'M fine."

This asshole's anything but fine. _Just take it_ , is what he wants to say. _Just lemme help._ But that didn't work out so well when he tried supporting the guy at the beach. "Jus' take it! I don't want ya ta pass out or somethin', and I sure as hell don't wanna hafta drag yer ass ta the hospital. That'd be a hell of an inconvenience."

That seems to do the trick.

"You sure? I'm sweatin' like a damn pubescent."

He pulls his jacket off and shoves it at the stubborn man. Piers snatches it before it can fall.

"Alright then. Thanks."

Piers shrugs the leather off and passes it to him, and pulls the hoodie over his shoulders. He's trying not to watch too closely, but he can't help but be interested. He's never seen his shit on anyone else before. Piers flips the hood up to protect his head (his high ponytail makes for a funny shape beneath the fabric) and holds the garment closed near his collar. The jacket's shoulders are meant to sit on much broader shoulders, so the effect is like someone hung the hoodie on a walking coatrack.

An unwanted thought curls into his brain as he stares.

_He looks pretty damn good in my clothes. Wait, the fuck is wrong with you? Guy's dying here._

"That's leagues better, thank you." The audible relief snaps him out of it.

He shakes his head and loosens his grip on the exchanged coat, ridding himself of the thought and playing it off as something casual. "Not bad. Don't fit too good, but the color scheme works. We match."

...Why the fuck did he say something so corny? 'We match?' That's shit you say when you trade friendship bracelets, not when loaning a guy your jacket to delay their heatstroke. He ruffles the back of his head. He's gotta redirect away from his weird-ass comment before Piers can reply to it, and blurts whatever first comes to mind. "About that concert. Ya sure ya want me ta go?"

"Course I want you to come." Piers sounds like he's in a much better mood now. He takes his jacket back and slings it over his shoulder with a light _whap_ as the sleeves hit his back. "You're doin' me such a big help after all."

There's that funny feeling in his gut again. Guzma speeds his pace to escape it. Of course, the tall fucker easily stays at his side with those long-ass legs.

"I _am_ curious what ya sound like..."

"If you wanna know what I sound like, come see me," the singer teases, matter-of-factly.

"Never heard any a' yer music before. Can't ya gimme a preview?" He's genuinely curious how the musician will sound on stage. Piers definitely looks the type to sound all intense and shit. Nothing sappy or optimistic. His style might be right up Guzma's alley.

"Why would you want a preview?" Piers cracks his neck and adjusts how the hoodie fits on his shoulders. "Worried you might not like it?"

Ah, shit. He didn't think his question could be interpreted that way. "What if yer voice makes me faint from how beautiful it is? Gotta prepare for that."

"Tch... I don't do solo performances. 'Specially not pretty ones," Piers scoffs. "Won't catch me singin' solo for no one. Stage or bust."

"Geez, fine. I'unno if I'd even like a pretty performance anyways." He shrugs and kicks a rock down the path. It hits a bigger stone and ricochets off to the side, clattering down the hill until it tumbles off the edge and out of sight. "More a fan fer destruction."

He thinks that's that, but after a minute, Piers speaks up again, and his tone is... softer. Guzma's immediately on guard. 

"There's vids online if you really wanna hear me. And o'course you don't gotta go to the show if you don't think you'll like it. Music should be enjoyed, and I know my style ain't for everyone."

_He's really givin' me an out? Aren't musicians s'pposed to brag about how good their shit is?_

He sticks his hands into his pants pockets and hunches. "Uh... sure. I'll check ya out, I guess."

No verbal response. Just a nod.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Guzma clears his throat, and looks off at the sea. "Never been to a concert before. This region doesn't really attract anyone flashy. It's sorta off the radar for most people."

_Way to win at socializing, Piers. He didn't mean badly._

It's not anyone's fault he has an aversion to singing in private for anyone. The one and only person he'll do it for is Marnie, and the last time that happened was back when she was still a little thing, needing some help to fall asleep after a living room argument scared her awake.

His eyes drift across the scenery as Guzma talks. No trees, mostly rock. Barren. Empty to an untrained eye like his.

_Gordie might—no, come off it. Quit dwellin' on them. They ain't your acquaintances anymore._

"It's sorta off the radar for most people."

That gets his attention enough to want to reply.

"Kinda why I chose Alola to wrap up my tour. My hometown is off the radar to most everyone too, in Galar. Hardly anyone stops by 'less they have to."

Not that he blames anyone. The Spikemuth gym is humble to say the least and shite to say the most, compared to what all the other Gym Leaders have, with their flashy Dynamaxing and wealthy towns and high traffic of fans passing through to sprinkle cash on everything local.

Piers is proud of his town and all it has, don't get him wrong. He'd never let anyone imply that he thinks badly of Spikemuth. But it's undeniable that it can't offer a lot of what the other towns and cities can offer their residents. Piers should have been able to overcome it all, but he couldn't.

He holds the makeshift cowl tighter to his throat and stares blankly at the rocky path ahead. Red cliffs on one side, expanses of bright blue ocean on the other.

If only he did better, if only he was stronger, then maybe he could have done something. He could have put the brakes on Spikemuth's decline and pulled it back into glory behind the power of his gym, if only he wasn't so weak. Lagging behind everyone, trying desperately to catch up without Dynamaxing as a point of pride and stubbornness, and always falling short when it mattered.

Piers tries to shake off the dark cloud hanging over him. There's no use brooding over all that. The gym isn't even his anymore, it's Marnie's. After she makes more of a name for herself, more people will stop by and help breathe some life back into their town. She's got more charisma than him. More fire. More strength than he had at her age. Already got scores of fans to back her.

Nothing would make him happier than to see Marnie succeed where he failed and take pride in the accomplishment. He _knows_ she can do it, she has so much potential and talent and skill, far more than he ever had when he was young. He has faith that she can surpass him in every single way, and he'll always be her number one supporter. Even if she didn't make pulling Spikemuth back from the brink her new mission, he'd support her. He trusts her to make her own decisions about what she wants, and what she wants to do is fight for her town just as he did.

And hey, if he makes it big with his music, he'll be contributing to his town too, just in a different way. One that better aligns with his passions, now that he has the ability to pursue them. He may have fallen flat as a Gym Leader, but he can at least help Spikemuth as a rockstar. This tour he's on is step one, and it's been going great so far. There's been hiccups, like that time his concert gear nearly got lost within the airport baggage handling in Kalos, and today with his team getting nicked from under his nose, but he's handled everything just fine so far (minor panics aside).

Fog now mostly dissipated, Piers breaks away from his musings.

"I guess I wanted to perform someplace that reminded me of home somehow. Not that Alola's all that similar to Spikemuth. It's so bright 'n cheery here. And Alolans seem so... relaxed."

Guzma and his gang are the exceptions. They might do well with the chance to cut loose and scream. Especially since the gang is full of kids.

...Kids living in a run-down, shut-in town that even the dibble doesn't enter.

A frown crosses his face. Alola as a whole might be the day to Spikemuth's midnight, but Po Town comes pretty damn close to dark. He can't help but assume that the islander's opinions of them might reflect how Galarians generally think of Muthies...

"You think everyone'd treat you right if you brought your crew down to the show? Your gang don't seem half bad to me, a'least."

"Tch." Guzma kicks another rock. The hard-clack clatter rings in Piers' ears. It tumbles down, down... "Doubt it. They never did like us much. They'd probably look down on us for bein' there."

Damn... Now that gets under his skin. Art and music is supposed to be neutral ground. Everyone's allowed to get catharsis from art. Even 'local hoodlums.' There better not be any gatekeeper-y bullshit at his show...

He pushes a sigh through his nose and wipes the sweat from his brow. "Mind if I ask how your little gang got started in the first place?"

He finally asked. Guzma never intended on bringing the past up with a man he _just met_ , but since it's on topic now, and since Piers didn't treat his kids bad even after what they did... Might as well share. Hardly anyone cares enough to ask their history anyways.

"Way back when, we were a small group. A buncha castaways who failed the Trials and didn't agree with the old _traditions._ " He sneers the word and scuffs his shoe in the dirt.

"All of us were shunned by everyone in the islands. Eventually, we got bigger. More 'n more kids found themselves needin' a safe space to go. So I took over Po Town for us, since it was abandoned. Cursed with eternal rain because of Tapu Bulu. No one wanted it."

 _Just like no one wanted us,_ he bitterly thinks. _They still don't want us._

He remembers how rough it was back then. They had to clean and repair everything to make it livable. Leaky roofs full of holes... Cars abandoned in driveways... Trash and glass littered the floor of the Pokémon Center from past residents rushing to get everything they could out of town. He felt terrible putting the kids in conditions like that, but he had to do _something_ to make sure they were safe. It was the best he could do on his own.

He can sense Piers' slight confusion at the mention of the Tapu, so he mutters an elaboration. "One of the ancient Pokémon that lives on this island. Doesn't cause us trouble no more... Not that we ever stopped bein' in trouble even after the rain stopped."

He glances up to check for any sign of judgement or disgust, and finds none. His hands shove deeper into his pockets and he fixes his eyes back on the path. "No one cared, or even offered to help. 'Cept old man Nanu. He made sure we never got in dire trouble."

"Really? Him?" Piers dips his head down to better look at him.

"Yeah. Guy's an asshole, but he's had our backs more'n once."

Hooking them up with food, supplies... He's also whisked a kid to the hospital more than once whenever someone got too sick for Guzma to handle on his own.

"Huh. Crooked copper bent the right way..." Piers murmurs. "Sorry, Guzma. Go on, I'm listenin'."

Kinda weird to hear his name out of an accented mouth. Even weirder to have it be said in such a... non-aggressive, not-yelled, not-sneered way. Just... his name. Tacked after an apology, too, when's the last time anyone said sorry to him that wasn't from one of his kids?

"We, uh... did do petty shit like stealin' food and supplies for our Pokémon. Nothin' too terrible, until..."

A pretty white smile flashes in his mind. Anger and shame churn in his gut in response. He needs to forget about that crazy ass bitch. All she ever did was use him and take advantage of his devotion. He's disgusted with himself he let it get as bad as it did.

"Until what?" Piers nudges when he takes too long to answer. He tilts his head back with a heavy sigh and lets the sun beat down on his face to scorch away the memory of her.

"Well. Let's just say some bad people came. Offered us cash if we did a few things for 'em... I did what I had ta do, to provide for my gang."

That's what he always tells himself. It was for his kids. He did it for his gang. They needed him and he had to provide. That bitch had nothing to do with his decision-making other than giving him an opportunity.

_Who am I fucking kidding. I was wrapped around her finger like a desperate dumbass. I'd do anything for her, and she..._

The weight of his past is heavy on his shoulders, flexing its claws in him to keep the wounds fresh. If he wasn't on his feet and walking it would be oppressive enough to put him to his knees. If he just had a drink he could make it go away. Too fucking bad he can't right now. It's dry as a bone out here.

What a story... No wonder Po Town looks how it does. And no _wonder_ Guzma was so angry about those kids stealing again. It all makes terrible sense. Piers doesn't regret learning all this, but he's not happy that it came at such a cost to Guzma's mood. The man looks lost to his own dark thoughts, stony gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

It's such a strange look to see on someone else. Normally that kind of mood's cloaked on him.

_Is that what I look like to others?_

Piers alters his direction a few degrees, until they're nearly rubbing elbows. Would it help to touch? Or distract? He doesn't know what'll work best here...

He'll go with empathy. The most important thing Guzma told him is that he did it all to provide for his gang. The way he talks about and interacts with the younger kids make it clear that they're family to him, and when you've got family, you'll do anything to care for them and keep them safe, out of harm's way. Piers can understand that more than anything.

Guzma's done an amazing job at it so far, looks like. Even if he had to get his hands dirty, he provided for his children and gave them somewhere to belong. There's nothing more respectable, in his eyes.

"I understand, mate. You did what you had to do." Piers pulls his hand out from under the jacket, risking the sun's rays, and awkwardly pats between the man's broad shoulders.

No reaction, to the words or the touch. Alright, well, he already committed. Backing out now would only make things more awkward. To be more heavy-handed in his comforting, Piers hooks his arm around the shorter man's neck and drags him closer without batting an eye at the shocked squawk of protest. If this shite works he'll have to thank a certain smarmy someone for indirectly teaching him how to pull moody bastards out of their funks.

He drags Guzma along, their hips knocking together in mismatched strides, and leans down with a lowering of his voice. "'Ere, how's this. I can give a little show just for you lot. Right in your town. No havin' to worry about people bein' arseholes to ya, it'll be on your home turf."

As the icing on the get-well-soon cake, he winks and claps Guzma's shoulder before letting go and retreating back to the safety of the borrowed hoodie.

"Everyone deserves to enjoy music. Consider it repayment for helpin' me today," he says with as much cool confidence as he can. Confidence he wears on his skin like a shell without really feeling it on the inside, because this is not his forte.

He's going to feel so stupid if none of that worked. He's not cut out for this sort of thing, but he had to try. For Guzma's sake.

What the—

Guzma rubs the back of his neck once freed and turns his head to hide the blush that rose from the sudden touching. And from that wink. Fuckin' hell, he had no idea Piers would pull a bold move like that. Or that it would work to distract him from his shit.

He barely registered what Piers said. A show at Po Town or something...? Yeah, right. As if some rockstar would actually set aside the time to show up at such a shitty venue. He appreciates the sentiment, though.

"Maybe it should be considered repayment for wakin' me up with yer shoutin'." He kicks another pebble down the route. When they walk past it, Piers swings a leg to give it a kick of his own. It tumbles to a stop right in line with Guzma's path.

"How else should I have gotten your attention? Sorry for wakin' you if you were asleep, but honestly."

"I dunno!" He throws his arms into the air. "Coulda jus' walked up to the door and knocked like a normal person!" With a harder punt, the rock goes flying in a long arc and makes a tiny puff of dust when it lands far away.

Piers shoots him a critical look. "Would ye really have woken up to a knock?"

"...Prolly not. I sleep like a rock. Takes a lot ta wake me up if it ain't my normal time." And if it's one of his days off from Hala's training, he'll sleep all day if he can get away with it.

"Then I was clearly justified. 'Sides, I was havin' a shite mornin'. Cut me some slack."

"Are ya always like that when yer having 'shite mornings?'" The Galarian slang sits awkwardly in his mouth.

Piers huffs, exasperated but not mad, and sends the pebble rolling when they reach it again. It breaches a slope and tumbles down, coming to a stop smack dab in the middle of the route. "It was a special case. I don' usually shout like that 'less it's on stage. You'll get your beauty sleep from now on, so quit yer whingin'."

Quit what now? Whatever.

"I fuckin' better get my sleep. Won't wake up for ya like that a second time."

"You'd better hope there is no second time."

"You should too, 'cause if there is, I'll kick your ass."

"Yeah, yeah." Piers waves. "Sure thing, bruv."

"The fuck did ya just call me?"

"Buh- _ruv._ Your ears broken or what?"

The non-hostile banter lasts until they're finally in Malie City.

It's like stepping into an oasis. It's much cooler here, with lush trees filtering the sun, bright grass, and pale-paved paths that reject the heat. Piers is visibly more relaxed, even if he's still breathing heavy from the hike around the mountain.

Malie... Guzma hasn't stopped by here since he first had that run in with that brat Moon, back when he was working with Lusamine. _Kukui_ was there, too, the asshole. That all feels like ages ago. He's changed since then, but he can still remember those days crystal clear. How he acted all tough back then, threatening to give people a beat down. The whole 'it's ya boi' catchphrase. God, he was an idiot back then. Nowadays he only passes through Malie for its ferry, and even then it's at ass o'clock in the morning, when there's less people to notice him slouching by.

Piers is trying to be subtle about checking everything out like the tourist he is. They stroll past a restaurant that catches the Galarian's eye and Guzma feels the need to comment on it.

"That's Sushi High Roller. Pretty nice place," he mumbles, dodging someone's gaze. Bastard's openly staring at him, along with some others.

Piers doesn't seem to notice the weight of the looks catching and sticking on them. "Must be crackin' good sushi since we're on the sea. You eat there much?"

"Nah. Too expensive for me. Kahuna Nanu likes it here, though."

"Does he now..." Piers has a thoughtful look on his face. Probably thinking about taking his rockstar self over there to splurge. The same people who are glaring at him through the windows right now would trip over themselves to serve a celebrity. Must be nice to turn heads in a positive way.

Within his pockets, Guzma takes comfort in the feel of Gol's pokeball and all the others. "The plant's all the way in the back of the town. I'm sure those punks're still there," he mutters, not wanting anyone overhearing their business.

The looks he's getting are bad enough already. If anyone hears that his kids are causing trouble again he can kiss all his hard work goodbye.

As they make their way further into the city, Piers becomes more and more conscious of the stares.

Most target Guzma, but more than a few are ogling him, too. Or more specifically, the jacket on his back. The gears are turning in their heads, churning towards various outcomes and opinions, and the unfortunate conclusions are written all over their faces. He doesn't know what to make of this; Guzma said people look down on him and the rest of his gang, but this is beyond looking down. Some of these people look downright hostile. Or scared. They must think the boss doesn't mean well by making a stranger wear his clothes and walk around with him in public.

If Piers were alone and receiving these looks, that would be one thing. He could take that. He doesn't care much for what anyone assumes of him, especially not a bunch of people who live halfway across the world, but he can't be dismissive of how all this might be impacting the man at his side.

Guzma's shoulders are rounded and stiff, eyes digging a trench into the ground in front of his feet. He must have noticed the stares from the very start.

Now self-conscious on his companion's behalf, Piers leans down to mumble at him. "Want this back?" He plucks at the front of the hoodie. "People are givin' you some right nasty looks..."

For all Piers is unaffected by the strangers, Guzma might care what they think, and Guzma lives here, has to see these people often. He'd hate to embarrass the man or inconvenience him in any way. Only thing he can think to do is try and offer the man some normalcy in the form of returning his jacket. Piers of all people understands the comfort of wearing things as shields. He'd hate to take someone else's away when they need it. The sun might murder him faster without the cover, but this city is a lot cooler than they were on that route. He'd kill for some water, but his Pokémon being so close stops him from slowing down to hunt for a drink. He can last this final leg.

Guzma shrugs and hunches down further, guarded and tense. "Nah, 's fine. I'm used to this shit."

As if that makes it better. He subconsciously starts walking closer to Guzma again, to shelter him from some of the public judgement.

He wishes he had his hoodie back.

Guzma might be used to stares, but it's hard to ignore everyone's eyes without being able to pull his hood up as a guard. He feels exposed, like everyone's gazes are crawling over his bare arms and the back of his neck and digging into his skin to eat at him. It's all imaginary bullshit, but it certainly _feels_ like they're eating at him. But that's no reason to take his jacket back from the guy who needs it most right now.

He just has to deal with this until they pass through the city.

Fuck though, people are definitely staring at Piers too. They're gonna think some bad shit about him just because he's wearing some Team Skull threads. Maybe he should take it back. He wouldn't want to ruin the rep of this up and coming star when he did nothing to deserve it.

_No one deserves bein' dragged down with me._

A father crosses the street with his child to avoid passing them up close.

All this has to be bothering Piers too. He even offered to give Guzma his hoodie back so that...

Wait, he's such a dumbass. Why would Piers wanna take the hoodie off for his stupid sake? Piers obviously wants to ditch it because he's bothered by how everyone's acting.

The fuck was he thinking...

"Seriously, mate. I don't want it if people are starin' at—"

"Take it off then." Fuck, that stung, even if he knew it was coming. "Yer right, ya shouldn't be seen wearin' that."

Shit though, his pasty ass will just get burned without that jacket. Which matters more, Piers' physical well-being or his rep? Who gets to say which is more important?

"...Th'hell are you on about?"

He gives the ground an ugly look. "It'd be bad if they thought ya were associated with the likes a' me. But I'm still worried about ya turning redder'n an Oricorio, so..."

He just has to leave it up to Piers. It's not like he can just rip his jacket off the guy's back in front of everyone. That would only make things worse.

A scoff chafes the air. "I don't give two shits about reputation by association. I'm keepin' it on." Piers punctuates his words by sticking his hands back into the comfortable pockets. "...If ye don' mind."

His head shoots up and he stares directly at Piers' resolute profile. He _really_ doesn't mind? People are gonna give him more bad looks, think some weird shit. It could impact his concert.

(The thought of the singer wanting to wear his threads despite all that, even if it's just to keep himself from burning, makes Guzma's heart clench, and not in a bad way.)

"I- I ain't gonna force ya," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck to erase the prickle of someone's stare. "Do whatever ya want."

"That's that, then." Piers adjusts the clothing over his shoulders and tosses his head. Some of his bangs flick Guzma in the shoulder, and he speeds up for no reason he can clarify to himself. The faster they're out of here the better.

"Oi, wait up!"

Guzma doesn't slow his pace until they reach the edge of the city. The sewage plant has to be the building right ahead, judging by the small Grimer sliding about. Most colorful Grimer he's ever seen, what do they eat around here to look like that?

A solidly-muscled arm is thrown out in front of him that he nearly runs into.

"What—"

"Game plan." Guzma turns around. The serious set to his face shuts Piers up. "We'll go in so they see me first. Don't want them runnin' like last time. The last thing I want is havin' to chase those brats all through the city. So, jus' stay a little behind me."

As annoying as it is to be ordered around, it's comforting that Guzma always has a game plan. No wonder he's able to be in charge of a gang. Man's decisive.

Guzma waits for his nod before pushing the doors open. So they can just... walk in? Interesting security this place has. Maybe there's just that much community trust.

Trust Guzma doesn't want to tarnish anymore. That's why he's doing all this in the first place. He hopes a day comes soon where Guzma can stroll the streets and not have anyone fear or hate him. From what he's seen so far, the man ain't that bad.

Within the facility, the lights are painfully bright and fluorescent, and it's air-conditioned to a chilly degree. Piers is losing body heat faster than he gained it outside. Not once in his life has he achieved stable enthalpy in this damn body of his. Wind always blows right through him even if it's just AC. He tries not to shiver as he tiptoes along behind Guzma, and folds his own jacket tighter over his arms.

The Team Skull leader is very good at sneaking about when he wants to. Skulking, rather. That would make a good bit of lyric, actually... Maybe he should make a song about his time in Alola. Or about his time getting aid from the misunderstood Team Skull specifically. Lots of potential there. As soon as he gets back to the resort with all four Pokémon, he'll—

Rowdy voices echo down the hall and snap them both into sharp concentration.

"No! Come on, Skuntank, use—use, uh... Use whatever!" a boy's voice cries.

Well now, there's the other set of thieves. Trying to battle with his Pokémon, are they? They certainly got farther than the other two did. Piers stifles a snicker at their boldness and earns a glare for the noise that he pays no mind.

No one can battle with someone else's Pokémon if they don't know how they were trained. Or if they're unwilling, as was the case with Malamar and Scrafty. Skuntank is a sweetheart and loves kids, though, so she's definitely playing along.

Something around the corner collapses, and he perks up hearing the familiar victory cry of his poisonous team member.

"YES! Knockout! Quick, throw the ball!" A girl this time.

Guzma motions for him to stay right where he is and he obeys with a sweep of his arm, the classic 'go right ahead' gesture. He's more than happy to stand back and watch. Listen, rather. If the kids manage to make it past Guzma, he'll grab them himself. He leans nonchalantly against the white drywall with his hands in his pockets.

This should be good.

"Come onnn... almost!"

"No way is it gonna— _yes!_ "

The telltale sign of a Pokémon being successfully caught is his cue to jump around the corner. "HEY!"

The cheering stops, and the triumph in the two teen's gazes crystallizes into dread when they see him. Tua and Haku, just like he expected.

"Boss!" they yell in synced surprise. The girl has a pokeball in her hand. Undeserved spoils.

He marches right up and crosses his arms, blocking the hall with his intimidating size in case they even _think_ about running. Doesn't look like they'll bolt. They're frozen to the spot.

Behind them, a large Skuntank whirls to face him. Gotta be Piers'.

"We can explain," Tua starts.

Oh, that's funny. He already knows the whole damn story.

"Boss, look, we caught a—"

"What the _fuck_ do ya think you're doin'?" He blows right past their offer to explain themselves, flooding the hall with his disappointment.

"Nothing Boss!" Haku skitters behind his friend. He's always hiding behind her. "We were just catching Pokémon! Legit this time!"

"Legit? _Legit?"_ he snaps. They both flinch, and Skuntank's hackles rise. Guzma barely pays it any mind, he's pissed at his kids' sorry excuse for an excuse. "Ya think I'm stupid? I _know_ ya stole someone's Pokémon ta do this. Did ya think ya could straight up lie ta me?"

The girl pipes up, voice high with nerves. "N-No Boss!"

"We didn't steal, we just... we found these!" Haku's eyes widen once those words leave his mouth, and Tua hisses something at him that Guzma can't hear.

He can't believe it. They're actually _lying_ to him. To his face. They _must_ think he's some kind of idiot if they thought they could get away with this. A sharp frown twists his face and he reaches around the stiff girl, intending on tugging Haku forward to talk to the kid properly face to face.

Skuntank snarls and charges around the teens to block Guzma's way, tail puffing out in an open threat with every white tooth bared.

He stops in his tracks. The fuck is this? He doesn't want to get any closer for fear of what the Pokémon might do. It's snarling like it's about to attack him! Piers trained this thing properly, right?

Something unpleasant turns in his gut. _Maybe it thinks I wanna hurt them..._

He'd never lay a hand on his kids, but of course this Pokémon wouldn't know that. It seems intent on guarding his brats even though they stole it from its trainer. Gotta hand it to the Skuntank, if anyone else were confronting his kids right now instead of himself, he'd applaud its defensiveness.

"Easy there..."

Tired of the standoff, Skuntank snarls and digs its claws into the linoleum floor. Shit. Maybe he should—

"Skuntank, it's alright!" Piers skids around the corner and drops low, arms open. The skunk barely takes its glare away to glance at Piers through his legs. "Come on, girl, he won't hurt them. I trust him, it's alright."

She doesn't budge. Neither does Guzma. That open declaration of trust threw his concentration out of whack. No way does Piers really...

"Guzma, step back, will you?" Piers hisses and snaps him out of it. "She thinks you're a threat to them."

As much as it stings, he obeys. His hands raise in surrender to show the Skuntank he means no harm. She growls again. What, does it want him to go even further? A few more steps has him bumping into Piers, and he has to look down to avoid tripping.

"It's alright. They're safe, there's no danger," the dark type trainer soothes. He rises to his feet and uses Guzma's shoulder as an armrest. "This man's just here to scold them for misbehavin'. He's their guardian."

Damn right he is... Guzma turns his head away and shakes off the overly-familiar touching.

The Skuntank's tail finally loses its threatening volume and her claws relax from the floor. She stalks off to the side and Guzma rotates to keep his distance until they've effectively traded spots in the hallway. She lays down at her trainer's side, chin resting on her paws and beady eyes boring into him.

He turns away from his unwanted audience with a tight sigh. His kids look less scared, but he can't let them think he's gonna go easy on them.

"Alright, you two. Gimme the fuckin' balls. All three. Hand 'em over."

They look at each other, then back at their boss.

"Three?"

"We only took two..."

He sneers. "Nah. I'm taking the one ya just caught at punishment. Ya can't have it if ya caught it using a stolen Pokémon. That ain't right."

"Oi, I only want my Skuntank and Obstagoon. They can keep the..."

Guzma fires a glare over his shoulder. Piers only raises a brow in return. That's right, stay out of it. This is between him and his kids.

Something tells Piers that trying to argue over this will only end badly. He doesn't look away or physically back down, but he does keep his face hole shut.

On the other side of the boss, the two kids are shaking in their boots. Sneakers, rather. They're looking at him with nervous, hopeful eyes, really wanting to keep that thing they caught. They seemed so eager to show it off to Guzma, too. Wanting to make him proud, maybe...

For now, he'll go along with their boss, as uneasy as it makes him.

"Fine. Listen to Guzma and hand 'em over," he dryly recites. "There's other ways to get yourselves a Pokémon."

The teens trade sullen looks and shuffle forward with microscopic steps. They're the image of nerves, and Piers doesn't blame them one bit.

"H... Here..." They hand over two Dusk Balls at first, but when Guzma barks at them, they present the third plain one. He takes his own two first. Obstagoon's still in his ball, he can sense him in there, and sense his happiness at being returned to his trainer.

"Come on, girl..." he murmurs and lets Skuntank back into her ball. All four, back in place on his belt. He should feel relief that it's over, but he can't, not yet. "Alright, I'm takin' this one too." He takes the red and white spoils from a reluctant hand. "My Skuntank defeated it, so I've a right to it, yeah?"

He feels scuzzy for saying that, but he has to get the Pokémon away from Guzma's possession.

The girl protests, but she's silenced with a hot glare from their boss. Piers weighs the ball in his hand and addresses the more frightened of the two in a calm, casual tone. Something lighter, friendlier, to offset the other adult they have to face. God, it's weird to play good cop for once. Normally he's the other half of the interrogation pair.

"What's in here?"

The boy swallows. "A... Garbodor. S-Sir."

He hums and slides it into a hoodie pocket. "Right then... Let's ditch this place. You lot've got no reason to stay. Follow us out."

All four of them make their way out of the plant, Piers leading the way and Guzma taking up the rear. He doesn't think his kids will bolt, with how heavy their heads are hanging, but you never know.

When they make it a decent distance away, he speaks up again, more mindful of his tone this time. "Listen. Yer in deep shit. I don't want ya guys stealin' anymore, I thought I made that clear ages ago. If ya need Pokémon, come ta _me._ Don't go stealin' other people's!"

If they had just come to him in the first place, he'd have helped them catch the damn thing. He's a pro at that. Caught tons of Wimpod back in his day. Of course, he didn't have any pokeballs back then, but when he did, the first thing he did was catch the one that resides in his pocket right now, albeit in its bigger, more badass evolution.

If his kids wanted a Pokémon, all they had to do was ask.

"We're sorry." Tua scuffs the ground as she walks. "We didn't think we could still... nevermind."

"We won't do it again though. Right?" Haku bumps his shoulder against hers and it does some work to pull her head up.

"Yeah. Promise," she mumbles.

Good. Guzma always liked how his team always got along. Fights are uncommon amongst the teens. Sometimes there'd be a few scuffles or shouting matches, but other than that they're all family. He loves these kids, and doesn't want them going down the same path he did.

"A'ight. So now that that's—"

"Hang on," Piers interrupts without breaking stride. "What were you lot tryin' to do, really? Just catch somethin' fer yourselves, or was there somethin' more to it?"

He throws Piers an incredulous look. What more could there be to it? His brats were selfish and caused trouble just to get themselves some Pokémon when they could have come to him for help had they not been stubborn.

To his surprise, the kids look down at the ground and slow their pace to almost nothing.

Doubt loses the war against curiosity. "Well?"

"We... we were scared." Haku speaks up, and the clear-cut words stop Guzma in his tracks. Their band comes to a total halt. "Of coming back. We thought you'd want nothing to do with us anymore..."

What...?

Tua hunches. "We regretted it a few days after we left... and we wanted to come back. But we were scared you wouldn't take us, so we..."

"W-We thought if we caught some Pokémon on our own, you'd be impressed with us and let us back into Po Town. Didn't work though... We're sorry for causing you trouble, boss... We really didn't mean to..."

The sentiment hits him like a ton of bricks. They thought he'd toss them out for good just because they ran away first? After all they've been through together?

All they wanted was to make him proud and he yelled at all of them without listening to their side, what the fuck kind of messed-up...

He walks up behind the two teens, whose shaking shoulders betray that they're a second away from crying. He steps around in front and crouches low to reverse the height difference. Big bad Guzma doesn't gotta be so big in front of _everyone,_ but only a special crowd gets to see him be this soft. He just has to ignore the fact that a literal stranger is watching. This is a unique case.

He waits until their nervous gazes rest on him before speaking. It's hard to say this, but he has to. They deserve it from him.

"I'm sorry," he starts. "I never meant ta give off that vibe. Only reason I was harsh on ya back then is 'cause I wanted you all ta do better than I did."

He feels like shit. Old him had anger management issues, and would constantly take it out on the kids even when he was trying to encourage them to do better, and for the most part, he apologized to everyone for how severe he was even with good intentions. Seems like these two need more than just an apology since it made them run off.

"That's not the greatest explanation. Ya didn't deserve the old me. You deserve the new me. I'd never turn you brats away, 'cause you're _my_ brats. Once a Skull, always a Skull, if ya wanna be. If you decide to come back to the town, you'll always have a place ta stay. Just no more stealin' or doin' bad shit anymore, that's all I ask. We doin' things right from now on. Got it?" He curls both hands into fists and bumps them on the legs. "All a' ya are like my own kids and I'm gonna treat ya better. That's a promise."

"Boss..."

He only gets halfway up to rising to his feet before they finally burst into tears and throw themselves at him hard enough to nearly knock him to the ground. He staggers and slings his arms around each of their waists and hugs them close to let them cry it out. They needed this. He can't be mad at them anymore, not when their motivations were trying to gain approval they didn't know they always had.

He wishes he could forget that Piers is behind him and definitely watching. It's embarrassing to let anyone see him be this soft, letting kids cry on him...

Piers can't look away. He should, this feels so private, but he can't. Guzma's sincere apology really hit him in the chest. All his short-lived doubts about the quality of the man's character were blown away just then.

He really sees himself as their guardian...

The reformed boss is red in the ears, but stubbornly hanging onto his kids—emphasis on his—as they sniffle into his shoulders. That kind of catharsis is hard-won after being equally hard to come by.

Piers swallows and finally rips his gaze away. His chest is warm, and it's not due to the weather.

After a few minutes, the teens calm down enough to peel themselves off their boss. They're red-eyed and embarrassed, and do their best to scrub their faces of all evidence of their cry.

Unexpectedly, the boy glances up at him, and grabs his friend's shirt to pull her close. They trade whispers that he can't make out, and after some fussing, both step up to him. Piers makes sure that his face is relaxed and wears a soft smile just for them.

"We're sorry for stealing your Pokémon," the boy starts off.

"And for those guys who knocked you down. They didn't mean to be rough."

"And we're sorry for making fun of you."

"And your weird accent."

"And the way you—"

Okay, he doesn't need to hear any more.

"That's enough. 'Pology accepted. Just stay out of trouble, alright? Guzma has your best interests at heart."

He means that with complete sincerity.

The pokeball in Guzma's jacket pocket fits, hidden, into his palm. Can't forget about this.

"...Was Skuntank well-behaved?" he lightly queries.

The girl startles. "Huh? Oh, yeah! She was great! Took down that Garbodor like it was nothing!" She pumps her fists and the boy nods vigorously with verbal agreement. Their renewed excitement brings a wider smile to his face.

"Glad to hear it. Here, got somethin' for ya." He pulls his hand out of the pocket. "This is yours."

He sets the ball into the incredulous hands of the teens. Their wide-eyed expressions of hope and incoming joy are too much for him to look at without feeling self-conscious. He doesn't even want to know what Guzma's reaction is. Could be mad that Piers just undid his punishment, but it's within his right to give this back to them.

"R-Really? But we..."

"Even if you stole my Skuntank, you still battled with her at your side and won. She acknowledged you two. You earned that Garbodor." He clears his throat and turns his head farther aside. "So treat it well, yeah?"

He glances back at them. The shine in their eyes reminds him so much of Marnie when she first met Morpeko. Oh, great, they're tearing up again... Almost looks like they're about to—

"Argh!" Unlike Guzma, he does not keep his footing when tackled. He's knocked to the ground with a stiff grunt that's squeezed into a wheeze by two enthusiastic embraces. Bloody strong kids...

"Hey, hey, get off the poor guy. He's not built like I am." Guzma hauls them off with ease. They scramble to their feet and wipe their eyes, trying to dry their latest tears. "Go back to Po Town. I'm sure the rest of the crew is there by now, and they'd love to see ya. Say hi to Kala and Makeo for me, a'ight?"

Guzma shoves his hands into his pants pocket, and at the same time, Piers dusts off the hoodie and drapes it back over his shoulders once on his feet.

The kids stare. Something in their heads must have clicked, he can see it on their faces.

"Heyyy, Boss? How come you gave your jacket to him?" the girl asks, sly as a Sneasel. "You never let _anyone_ wear it!"

"Yeah! Not even Big Sis when a Sharpedo splashed her and she was freezin'!" the boy quips.

Oh yeah? That so?

Well, there's a first time for everything. The boss did say he's a different man now, so there's no reason why that wouldn't apply to how willing he is to loan his jacket to someone in dire need of it. Piers won't feel special over it.

Those kids fucking noticed. They're never gonna let this go, and knowing them they'll spread the gossip all through Po Town once they settle back in.

"I told ya, I'm different now. Tch! Get yer asses outta here, before I change my mind and give ya a beat down!" He doesn't mean anything by it, but it's still enough to make them sprint away laughing. Once they're out of earshot, he kicks at the ground.

He doesn't know what to say after that. He's just standing there awkwardly, looking anywhere but the Galarian man nearby.

It's all over, right? He got the Pokémon back and set his kids straight. What else is there to do other than turn around and walk back home? He really needs a nap, to make up for being woken up early on his day off from training.

"Ye got sweet kids."

"Oh, uh... yeah. They're brats, but... good brats."

Piers chuckles. He looks happier than he has all morning. "Glad I met them. They remind me of some kids back ho—"

Guzma's stomach grumbles. Loud. He flushes with embarrassment and tousles the back of his head. He forgot he didn't have anything to eat since yesterday.

"Guess that's my cue to leave. Since ya got yer Pokémon back, I'll leave ya be. I gotta go rummage for whatever food's in Po Town." Wait, shit. "Nah, those four prolly need it more. Maybe old man Nanu can help. Geez..."

Piers is staring straight at him, head tilted to get his bangs out of the way. "That your way of sayin' you wanna get lunch? Haven't had a bite since I landed, me stomach's gonna eat itself afore long."

"Uh, yeah? Dunno where you plan on goin', but I'll figure somethin' out for myself."

Piers looks away and fiddles his hands together. "...I meant with me. You know, grabbin' somethin' in the city, maybe..." 

That... almost sounds like Piers wants to hang out with him. He narrows his eyes and inspects his companion. Piers looks innocent enough, but that doesn't mean shit, anyone can fake wanting to do anything. Then again, Piers had the perfect opportunity to get out of here as soon as he secured all his Pokémon, but chose to stick around instead. To chat a little and ask him to lunch.

Does he really wanna...?

Guzma quashes any excitement that dares to creep up on him and crosses his arms with a dismissive shrug.

"Nah, I ain't one for eatin' out. Too pricey."

"Wasn't gonna make you pay." Piers kills his excuse with a raised brow. "I owe you a big one and lunch barely covers it."

Oh. This is just a favor thing, alright. Nothing more than a little payback, that's easy to understand, and perfectly respectable.

A stomach that isn't his chooses that moment to imitate him and growl. Piers presses his lips together and shoves his shoulder with an embarrassed mumble. "Come on, lemme treat you to that sushi place. I insist."

Whoa, sushi? Piers wants to go to High Roller? No way is he passing this up, he rarely gets the chance to eat at such ritzy places.

"Hey, if you're buyin', I'm all for it." He grins up at Piers, who gives a small smile in return. It's the most pleasant expression he's directed at Guzma all day.

"Sure am, bruv." Piers jerks his head and they begin the walk back towards Malie. "Let's get on."

It doesn't take long for him to want to strike up conversation again. He was never good with long silences. He wants to at least express some kind of gratitude for what Piers is doing. Did. What Piers _did._ For his kids, not him. He's not that much of a sentimental dumbass to start thanking Piers for treating him like a regular guy. That'd just be embarrassing, sheesh.

"Hey, uh..."

"Hm?"

No backing out now. How does he phrase it in a normal way, though? He's not used to doing shit like this. _Thanking_ people. It makes his heart race it's so unfamiliar.

"Everything alright...?"

"Thanks," he blurts. "For, y'know... treatin' my gang right."

His heart's pounding like a motherfucker.

"O-Oh, that?" Piers tries to shrug it off, literally; his shoulders hunch and he rubs his upper arm. "Was just treatin' 'em normal. No need t' thank me fer somethin' like that."

No, he does want to thank him. It's a big deal, Piers has to know what a big deal it is.

"No, like. Yer a cool dude, y'know? Not everyone would treat 'em that great after havin' their Pokémon stolen. I just... I appreciate it. They need that kinda stuff and don't get it too often."

The weight of the words must've finally sunk in, because Piers takes longer to respond this time. His pale hand drifts up to fiddle with the ring on his choker and he slouches even worse. The pink and white jacket on his shoulder almost slips right off.

"They were just kids gettin' caught up in shenanigans. Couldn't be mad at 'em for it, 'specially when you set 'em straight like that. Reminded me of Team Yell back home. I've had to scold them fer nonsense plenty o' times."

What the fuck. There's no way he heard that right. _This guy_ has his own team back in Galar? He was a Gym Leader! No way was that allowed.

The stress over expressing gratitude slides right off Guzma's back as he comfortably latches onto the change in topic.

"You have yer own gang?"

"Wouldn't call it a gang like yours is," Piers mumbles, and adjusts the hoodie around his shoulders. "Team Yell's jus' a little somethin' I put together to cheer someone on. But those overzealous blokes took things too far. Had to chew 'em out much like you did."

"What for? It's probably nothin' like what my gang did." Or what Team Skull did before that. He can't see Piers being involved in anything that crazy.

A weary look crosses the Galarian's face. "Eugh... They acted like right hooligans, gettin' in the way of Galar's Gym Challenge. Obstructin' challengers, makin' me think no one wanted to stop by my gym... Definitely wasn't proud of 'em when I found out."

So, a little bit like what they did. Minus stealing Pokémon, and minus giving them to shady-ass researchers, and minus the whole 'contributing to opening a rift to another freaking dimension' thing.

"Sounds a li'l like us when we first started out." He chuckles remembering how the younger kids would try to be tough by fronting on Mantines and bus stop signs. "Maybe our teams would get along."

"Probably would. Your Po Town ain't a far cry from Spikemuth, atmosphere-wise. Think both our crowds would feel comfortable at each other's places."

"I dunno 'bout that. You probably have a real nice place, bein' a Gym Leader n' all. Doubt yer team would wanna set foot in a dump like Po Town."

Piers barks out a harsh laugh. "Nah, Spikemuth's a proper run-down shithole. All walled up with a leaky roof to boot. Least your place has got grass," he muses. "So yeah, we're no stranger to dumps. Far as dumps go, yours is pretty nice."

He scoffs, trying to shove his hands into his hoodie pockets out of habit but only sliding his hands down the front of his shirt. Dammit. _"Nice?_ Ain't no way Po Town is nice. But sure, I'll take your word for it. Spikemuth don't sound so bad anyways."

"Whatever, mate. I'm only allowed to say Spikemuth is shit 'cause I'm a Muvvie myself. Now hustle up, I'm starvin'."

Hustle up is exactly what he does. All this casual conversation is nice. Real nice. He's not used to being able to just... stroll around, shooting the shit with someone who isn't Plumes. Piers might have been a total ass at the beginning, but this right here? It's not bad.

Not bad at all.

It's honestly kinda unsettling in how not-bad it is. He almost thinks he doesn't deserve this. But he's allowed to be selfish once in a while, right? Whatever this is, it won't last forever, so maybe he's allowed to enjoy it while it lasts. He's only got until Piers is done with his concert and has to fly back home. This is all temporary, so he can indulge.

Having someone almost like a new friend is only temporary.

Once their time is up, everything will go back to normal. The same old shit. He'll go right back to clawing his way out of the grave he dug for himself, tooth and nail, trying to get people to stop looking at him like the shit under their shoes.

Piers doesn't look at him like that...

So yeah, maybe he should enjoy this while he can.

They're getting into Malie now, which is just as populated as it was when they arrived, and just as unfriendly, but right now, on their second pass through, the stares are somehow easy to ignore.

. . .

Sushi High Roller.

Guzma holds the door open so Piers can escape the heat first, and ducks in after him, head down and eyes on the floor. He's trying his best to hide himself behind the taller man. People seeing them together on the street was one thing, but here in a fancy restaurant? It's a whole other game. A much more dangerous one.

Even if Piers insisted he doesn't care about gossip, Guzma _really_ doesn't want to ruin his rep by letting too many people see them together in a place like this, chatting and eating together. People might think they're friends. Or worse. On a date.

The atmosphere of the restaurant is oppressively classy. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Piers could have treated him to someplace less... fuck, just someplace where he doesn't stick out like a beer stain on white carpet.

"Table for two, please." Piers talks like he's right at home here. He would be, he's basically a celebrity.

They're led to their table by a silent waitress. Guzma slides into whichever chair faces away from the other customers. Looking at them would just ruin his appetite.

The air inside the restaurant is cold, and only pleasant for about thirty seconds. It seeps through Guzma's breezy jacket, leaving Piers to shiver even though he was sweltering just outside, thanks to how sweaty he got.

His old jacket is much more appealing right now. He pulls Guzma's off and unfolds his own to pull on. It's still retaining some of the heat from outside. Sweet warmth...

Before looking over the menu, he folds the hoodie into a loose stack and holds it out over the table. "Here you go. You've gotta be cold in here."

Guzma stops before his hand can even cast a shadow on the glossy wood. "Nah, keep it until ya get yerself some good sunblock. I'll get it back from ya later." He pushes the jacket back over.

Piers stiffens his arm in resistance. "Come on mate, just take it."

"No, seriously. Keep it. The sun here is harsh. Ya _don't_ wanna get burned. You're lucky ya aren't already."

"I'll be fine on the way back," he insists.

"Like hell ya are! I don't want ya gettin' hurt on my—"

"What can I get for you two?"

They both look up at the waitress. Her eyes are fixed on her notepad, smile rigid.

He shoots a glare across the table and sets the hoodie back in his lap. Guzma wins for now.

Before he can say anything, Guzma throws an order out. "I'll have the Z-Kaiseki meal, and can we get a whole pitcher of water? This guy was out in the sun all day and he ain't used to it."

His throat aches at the mention of a drink. Now that Guzma mentions it, he's absolutely gagging for a sip of something cold right about now.

"O-Oh! Of course, right away! What about you, sir?"

Piers grabs the laminated paper and gives it a scan. He doesn't know what any of this is... "I'll have whatever you recommend for someone who's only here a short while. I ain't picky. And that water would be lovely, thanks."

His accent tickles the waitress's ears and she finally looks up at him. "I'll get you set up with our specialty, sir! One check, or..." Her enthusiasm diminishes. She's looking at the gangster like she can't believe he had the audacity to come in here. Guzma scoffs and looks out the window, crossing his arms on the table.

Piers pulls her attention back by clearing his throat. "One check, yes."

She bustles off and his eyes linger thoughtfully on her back for a moment, then on the man hunched across from him. Guzma looks like something bitter is sitting on his tongue that he can't spit out.

Piers leans over the table to ask under his breath. "They always that subtle?" He jerks his head towards where the waitress stood.

"I wish," Guzma spits. "I don't blame 'em though." He slouches more into the seat. "Like I said. I terrorized 'em for a good while. I ain't proud of it, but it's gonna take a while for me to gain their trust back." 

'Terrorized' is a new word. Strong one, too. Guzma doesn't seem the type to be a drama queen, so Piers is going to take that without any grains of salt.

"All 'cause I worked for the wrong person..." The Skull boss scoffs and his arms fold tight on the table. "Nah, 'wrong' is an understatement. Probably the _worst_ person in the whole of Alola."

Piers frowns. He wants to ask who this 'worst person in the whole of Alola' is, but he can sense that now isn't the best time. All he knows is that whoever it was, and whatever the circumstances were, Guzma did the deeds for the sake of his gang, so Piers can live without knowing the details.

Not asking about it leaves him with no other avenues of conversation. Awkward silence it is.

Guzma unfolds his arms, leans back, and crosses his leg under the table. His shoe scrapes against Piers' sun-pinked skin and they both wince, one in pain and the other in regret.

"Shit, sorry... Anyways, yeah. People're always like this towards me. And the rest of the gang too, but they don't deserve it... They're usually nice ta everyone else though. 'Specially tourists like you."

What an unpleasant confirmation. Knowing that Alola's awful to Guzma and even the kids puts a damper on his perception of all the good hospitality. Even if they do have a valid reason to dislike their resident gang leader, the man's only done good things for him, and his heart is in the right place as far as Piers can tell. They might even be starting to be friends.

Now ain't that an interesting thought.

"I hope people are more polite while you're with me, at least. I'll be sure to let people know you helped me. 'Specially the Kahunas."

"Nah, ya don't gotta do that. I wanna prove myself that I've changed now, and I'll do it myself by workin' hard."

Admirable, that Guzma has a desire to earn his own acceptance. Piers can respect that, but he still wants to do _something_ to help his new acquaintance.

The waitress returns long enough to deposit two glasses and a pitcher of water, and before Piers is conscious of moving he's got a freshly-drained glass in his hand. Fuck, that's better... Probably shouldn't gulp it like this, but he needed that. He feels a lot more energized, and a touch more optimistic. Just a touch.

"Hey... 'member what I said earlier today?" He offers a slight smile when a steely gaze meets him. "The day after m'show, I wanna swing by Po Town with some gear. Put somethin' on for the kids."

Guzma stops swirling his own glass of water. "You were serious about that?"

He nods. Making empty promises isn't his style. He said so earlier to those two boys, but he doesn't blame Guzma for doubting his reliability. They're still only strangers, after all.

"Meant every word. Think the kids would like a Po Town concert? Private 'n special just for them?"

Guzma smiles so brightly that his eyes close. "Yeah, I think they'll love it!"

The gangster's eyes may be shut, but Piers' are very wide. He's never seen Guzma smile like this, it's dazzling. Such a handsome grin. Makes him look so much younger. How old is Guzma, anyways? Whatever, doesn't matter.

He responds to the sudden shift in energy by scooting to the edge of his seat.

"Well mint, that! Been too long since I've 'ad a small show with the crowd in arm's reach. I miss that more personal energy, y'know? It'll be great."

Guzma nearly knocks his own sunglasses out of place as he grips his hair, surprise and wonder written all over his face. "I couldn't repay ya enough for somethin' like that. I can't wait to see the kids' faces when they hear the news, they love music and other artsy shit. Fuck, they'll be bouncin' off the walls until the day comes!"

The air in his lungs is buzzing with happy energy. Unable to temper his good mood, Piers rests his head on a hand, and drums a light rhythm onto the table. "Will I still see you at my first show? You're all more'n welcome to come to that one too."

"Of course I'll come. I wouldn't miss either." Guzma drains his glass and clacks it hard onto the table. "Shit, get me in the front row and I'll go buck wild just for you."

Buck wild? Like cheering? The funny saying as well as the sentiment behind it makes his eyes crease closed in his own smile.

Piers is cute when he smiles.

Now that they're sitting face to face and relatively nothing's going on, Guzma takes a moment to truly inspect the man across from him. He's already gotten the superficial shit down. Tall, pale (miraculously, after the day they had), skinny, wild hair, piercing eyes. Literal piercings too, all in his ear. That's all easy stuff to notice. He wants to look harder now that things have calmed down.

...He's bad at this though. The only thing that comes to mind is cute. Okay, maybe he'll skip trying to analyze appearances. Going deeper, the guy is feisty. Not scared of him, and unafraid of snapping back whenever Guzma bites. Likes his kids too. _Generous,_ can't forget that. Ridiculously so. Paying for lunch, offering a concert just for Po Town so they don't have to deal with the Alolan public getting in the way of them enjoying themselves...

It's almost too good to be true, but another squint at Piers' happy face makes it hard to doubt his sincerity.

This could be so good for his kids. They need another adult who actually cares about them, treats them with real respect. A stranger, too, someone new and fresh without any of the baggage everyone else in Alola has got regarding Team Skull.

Guzma shifts in his seat and lowers his gaze to the table. His chest is getting all warm the more he thinks about how Piers is being insanely kind to his kids. First treating them with more sympathy than anyone in Alola would ever give them, then saying he'll take time out of his busy big-shot schedule just for them? He must be some kind of... of saint, or an angel, or something.

That smile sure does suggest it.

"I'm glad," Piers says, expression shifting from innocently happy to something a little more devious. "You deserve a chance to scream at me for a change. Sure look forward to hearin' it."

The waitress brings their food, finally, and they eat in a silence that's comfortable for once, punctuated by Piers' questions about Alola and Guzma's mumbled answers, until they've both polished off lunch. He hasn't eaten this good in days. If he wasn't concerned about taking Piers' money, he'd have ordered more than just the one meal for himself.

With their plates clean and their stomachs full, they sit for barely a minute before the waitress materializes. She whisks their plates up and gives them their check. Gives Piers _his_ check, fuck.

Guzma sinks into his chair and looks out the window at the cue of crinkling receipt paper. He stubbornly keeps his eyes off the pale reflection of Piers' hand in the glass, but in the corner of his vision he can still make out the ghost of the actions. Handling the payment, laying down bills with grace in his fingers even though the action is so mundane.

Now that lunch is over, there's nothing really tying him here anymore... He'd rather not linger here. Piers got to treat him, and his kids should be back home by now. He should get back there and see how they're doing, fill everyone in on the good news. Take a fucking nap. It's gonna get hard to stay awake soon, after eating so good.

Besides, Piers probably has shit to do. Shouldn't take up too much of his celebrity schedule.

"Thanks for the grub. I should head back to Po Town. Got shit to take care of." He stands and stretches until his back and shoulders pop. Feels amazing to stretch right after a satisfying meal. "Catch ya later."

He hopes Piers does catch him later. He was already planning on leaving Piers his jacket for the rest of the trip back to his fancy resort, but now? The lent coat feels more like a deliberate ploy to corner Piers into getting in touch with him again. It feels dirty, but... he's still helping the guy, so it's not actually that selfish. Can't be.

Piers can't help but watch the stretch. Guzma's a really built bloke, and, well... Who doesn't like looking at some muscle? The bottom of a white t-shirt rides up and the sliver of tan stomach exposed is a knife to the throat of his sensibilities. Quite a handsome guy, he is...

"Sure, yeah..."

Wait, he's leaving? Already? Piers is taken aback by the sudden farewell. He thought they would hang out more, get to know each other better. Stiff waitress aside, they were having fun sitting here, chatting over lunch. He's never felt so at ease around a stranger before.

He lowers his eyes to the table and suddenly becomes conscious of the black fabric folded in his lap. "Oh, your jacket. Here, take—"

A hand flies up to cut him off. "Told ya. Keep it for the trip back. Sun's still bad out there for ya. You can get it back to me whenever."

How vague. Whenever could mean tomorrow, in a week... Later today... The hazy wording is begging to be taken advantage of. There's an opening, a setup, for them to see each other again soon.

He tries not to look too eager in case Guzma thinks something is up. "If you say so. Thanks again for it."

"No prob." Guzma shrugs a broad shoulder. "I gotta head out now, got shit to do. Y'know where to find me."

That he does.

"In a bit, then," he sighs.

Piers watches him leave from the corner of his eye, and more openly once the restaurant window acts a buffer between him and the subject of his staring.

Gone too soon, back towards Po Town.

Piers untwists and stares at the cleared table. He sinks into his chair slightly, mind turning over itself to mull recent events over. So much happened this morning that sitting here, alone and relaxed in an air-conditioned restaurant, feels surreal.

All he knows is that he really wants to get along with Guzma, and really wants to see him again soon. He fills his glass anew and takes his time nursing it, thoughts of the day's events floating around his head.

After he's poured himself another glass of water and sipped half of it down, the waitress appears again, seemingly more at ease without the gang boss here.

"You know..." She lifts the paid-for bill. "You're generous to feed that guy. Guzma," she clarifies, like she's saying something dirty.

The atmosphere around him chills a few degrees, but the waitress doesn't notice.

"I hope he didn't suck up to you or anything just because you're new around here. Weird, though. Despite everything, he was never the type to beg. And he never seemed smart enough to manipulate anyone. Well, I wouldn't put anything past him."

He doesn't acknowledge her musings one bit. His gaze hardens and fixes to the vacated seat across from him.

"You probably don't know much about that guy since you just arrived, but I can fill you in, don't worry."

"Can you now."

He's heard enough story from Guzma himself. He doesn't need to hear more, but he is curious about what a random Alolan has to say about their Team Skull.

"I'll get you up to speed just fine. You deserve to know, that _that_ guy? Is a terrible person. He did a ton of bad things all through Alola. Hurt a lot of people, and those poor Pokémon, too..."

Irritation builds. Stolen Pokémon, he's already heard about that, and seen that Guzma's blatantly against it.

"Some folks are saying he's... reformed, or trying to reform, but..."

Guzma is reformed. Piers saw it for himself. He doesn't know exactly what kind of bad deeds he did in the past, but he's not of a mind to care. All that matters is who Guzma is now. And the man who was at his side all morning was nothing but honest, and, dare he say, rather noble. Only had his kids' futures in mind. He has some anger issues, sure, but he looks to have a handle on it, especially since he tolerated Piers' socially-incompetent arse through every conversation that veered too close to the edge of unrecoverable awkwardness.

"But what," he sighs, not at all invested in hearing what she has to say.

"But I don't believe it. There's no way he's changed all that much."

"Why not?" he cooly asks. "Didn't seem half bad t'me."

She shakes her head with an admonishing sigh. "Just a bad apple, you know? Be careful around him in case he tries to take advantage of you, I'd hate if he ever hurt another person, especially one who isn't familiar with his crimes. Terrible man. Simply terrible."

"He's not," Piers says, voice as flat and hard as the table reflecting his glare.

"What?"

He's heard enough is what.

"He's not terrible. He helped me when I needed it, went out of his way to do so." He straightens up and faces the lady with a coldly-neutral set to his face. "And if the reason he wants to take advantage of me is to get better things for those kids, then he's free to take advantage of me all he likes."

The waitress stands stunned at the quiet, cutting tirade.

"Keep the change," he mutters, and turns back to rest an elbow on the table and prop his head up by his cheek, glaring out the window like he's trying to frost it over.

After a meek "Enjoy your stay in Alola," she leaves him. Piers relaxes at her absence, and mutters to himself in admonishment. What a great start, being rude to the waitstaff during his first meal in this region. He couldn't help it, though, she was saying shit about the person who helped him in his time of need.

Piers' hand rests on the hoodie in his lap. It's soft, light, cold from not being worn. The duct tape _X_ is smooth and even colder. His nail catches on the edge of the tape, and he smooths it over before he can pick at it.

Funny that Guzma censored the skull instead of wearing something new entirely. He must be making a symbolic statement of rejecting his old self, rather than brush everything under the rug. Or maybe he just doesn't have any other jackets. Either way, the manner in which Guzma owns up to his past mistakes is quite admirable. So is the way he strives to take care of his family.

Very admirable indeed...

Shame that no one seems to see it.

So far in his brief time in this region, Guzma's the one he likes best. Granted, he hasn't hung out with anyone else for more than five minutes (or in Nanu's case a good hour, but the copper hardly counts). Point still stands. He wants to be friends with that gangster, and give him the good treatment he deserves.

But first thing's first. Getting sunblock, getting back to his resort, and taking a shower. Then he can stay in and rest, or explore the city, maybe work on his music, anything to fill the time and give Guzma some space. And as soon as night falls, he'll make his way back to Ula'Ula, return the jacket, and maybe...

Maybe...

Ask if Guzma wants to hang out? Or if he'd like dinner, on Piers' dime once more? Piers has never minded treating others to food now that he can spare the change to provide. He's not about to forget that comment anytime soon, about Guzma having to scrounge things up to eat at home. If he can, he wants to treat the man to better meals while he's here. It could be a good way to force a hang-out.

God, this is so desperate of him. But what can he do? There's just something about the man that draws him in.

There's also the fact that... just this once, he wants to take the initiative on making a friend. He's never done it before. It's only happened _to_ him once. If Raihan can do it, surely he can too, if he tries. He might completely fail at crafting a friendship from scratch, but he's only in Alola for a week. If his attempts crash and burn he can leave the wreckage behind and never look back. The important thing is that he tries.

It all hinges on Guzma's willingness to cooperate... Bloke might not even be interested in spending any more time with him. Piers did scream him awake and force him to hike all over the island with him. If all that nonsense happened to Piers instead, he'd tell whatever annoying bastard it was to sod off and never bother him again.

The jacket in his lap is his key to securing at least one more interaction. Now all there is, is... planning out how to give it back in a way that nets him future visits beyond that.

Ugh, he can figure all that out _after_ he's in his hotel room, cleaned the sweat and dust off himself, and recovered from the morning's adventure. One thing at a time. What's that saying, about a journey of a thousand miles starting with a single step? Hopefully his journey towards Guzma (way to make it sound disgustingly sappy) doesn't take nearly that long. He's only here for seven days, after all.

How much could even happen within a single week?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hours remaining: 161


	2. Operation: Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things we learned last chapter:  
> 1) Team Skull grunts are bad at planning ahead.  
> 2) Stay hydrated when out in hot weather.  
> 3) Piers and Guzma are longing to see each other again.

The gates of Po Town might be an eyesore for some, but they're a sight for sore eyes for Guzma. Home sweet home. After the mountain of shit that happened this morning, all he wants to do right now is collapse onto bed and pass the fuck out.

Before the gates have a chance to close behind him, a rush of voices gets his attention. The gang was waiting for him? This looks like all of them, too. A smile cracks across his face and he opens his arms out of habit.

"Ya boy's back!" he announces loud and clear.

That's their cue to crowd around him, hugging, chattering, greeting him in excited voices, and in some kids' cases, just standing back from the hubbub and watching things unfold.

After all the welcomes and Guzma's subconscious spot-checks of everyone's well-being are out of the way, the questions rev up, and once they get going, geez. These kids don't know how to let up.

"Yo, who was that guy from this morning?"

"He woke us all up screamin' his head off!"

"Boss, where's your jacket! It's gone!"

"Did that guy steal it right off your back!?"

"I'll kick his ass!"

"No, you idiot, there's no way that guy could take our boss in a fight!"

"I'll still kick his ass!"

A clamor of agreement rings after that last declaration. His head is spinning from all the commotion, he needs them to quiet down so he can put his words together and satisfy their curiosity.

With a raise of a hand, the crowd falls silent. As rowdy as this bunch are, they know how to listen when it matters.

"No one's kickin' anyone's ass. Ain't no trouble between us and him no more, got that? That guy was Piers. Some singer or whatever from Galar." More than a few of them jolt and whisper to each other at the name, suddenly hanging on his every word now. So, they really do know the guy...

"Reason I went with him was, had ta help him get his Pokémon back after _those_ four," he points to the four youths standing off to the side in their own little group, "decided ta cause a little trouble for us."

A symphony of 'oohs' rings from the crowd, and the four troublemakers shrink back into a huddle. He'll get to them last.

"And no, he didn't steal my jacket. I loaned it out to him. He ain't used ta the sun here, didn't want him faintin' on me."

Amidst the understanding nods, a few giggles crop up. He fixes the source with a harsh stare. So what if their big bad boss wanted to help a foreigner out.

"Now, I want y'all ta work _hard_ for the next few days, 'cause he invited us ta see this concert thing that he's throwin' over at—"

Cheers erupt all around him and drown out the rest of his words, but he doesn't mind too much. The instant hype lights a warm feeling in his chest. They deserve to have something to look forward to. Any chance he has to treat them in a way that doesn't come at a cost to Po Town or taking care of them long-term, he will fucking grab and give it to them. 

"I want y'all ta work _hard_ , 'cause I'm giving us the whole day off for that. Lastly..." He gives the group who stole Piers' team a glare that only lasts for a moment before softening. "Welcome back to these four idiots. We're glad to have 'em back, aren't we all?"

Another cheer and a round of 'welcome backs' fill the air, not directed at him this time, as his kids turn their attention to the friends they've been missing for so long. With how easily they're greeted, it's like they were hardly gone at all. The little hole left from their absence fills in just fine. Gang's all back together.

None of them may be perfect—a little rough around the edges, all of them, him included—but these are his kids. His family. And no matter what happens or where they choose to take themselves or what kind of trouble they get into, he'll always be there for them, watching their backs.

. . .

The bedroom door slams shut from a lazy kick. Guzma hobbles inside and sets his team down on the nearest nightstand, balls clacking as they settle, and collapses onto his throne with a deep groan. Every muscle in his body relaxes as soon as he's on its familiar cushions.

Today's been a hell of a fucking day and it's barely past lunchtime. He's exhausted. Got hardly any sleep before having to go on that island-wide game of damned hide and seek.

Wonder how much word got around about what his kids did... Depends on how much Piers talked about it, doesn't it. Guy doesn't seem loose-lipped, but hell, all it takes is one offhand comment before rumors start flying all over the islands.

God, he's tired. Tired about so many different things. The only one he can solve right now is his body's physical tired. Guzma rubs over his mouth, bouncing his leg and exhaling harshly once more. Eventful days are always stressful. Stressful days make for bad sleep. Bad sleep means...

_I could really use a drink..._

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, one of the pokeballs rolls right off the nightstand. Before it can hit the carpet, Golisopod bursts out of confinement with a chirp.

_Fuck._

"Sup, Gol? Whaddaya need?" he asks, as if he doesn't know exactly what this is about.

Gol chitters and he huffs. "Yeah, I'm stressed. Still thinkin' 'bout how our rep took a hit 'cause of those kids. Gonna take ages to fix their slip if people are already talkin', which is just what we need..."

A trill of disappointment rings across the room. Gol reaches over the steps to his throne and pokes him in the chest.

"Tch. I know! I know it's not their fault. It's my fault for makin' 'em think that shit was okay in the first place. I'll set 'em straight, don't worry..."

His eyes drift over to the assortment of bottles and cans on the shelf in the corner of his room. Just one might take the edge off, help him sleep better. Just one.

A harsh noise grates his ears and Gol grabs him right off his throne, carries him to the bed, and dumps him onto the mattress where he lands with a squawk. "What the hell!"

The Pokémon chirps and pushes him right back down when he tries to get up. Fuck, Gol's being so stubborn! If only he wasn't so exhausted, he might put up more of a fight, and totally win, because... no, even if he was at the top of his game, Gol could pin his ass just by sitting on him.

"Fine!" he yells, throwing himself onto his side with a burning glare at the wall. Gol trills and lays his head onto his side. Not apologetic, but concerned for his sorry ass nonetheless.

...He shouldn't be giving his buddy such a hard time. Gol's only trying to help.

"Sorry, bud..." He pats the smooth head weighing his waist down. "I'm jus' a little annoyed. Too much shit happened this morning. All on my day off too."

Golisopod chitters softly and nudges his hand, and he chuckles at the curiosity in the sound. "What, him? Don't worry about him, he's good now. Helped him all out."

That's not enough, apparently. The bug presses his head harder into Guzma's side to squeeze more details out of him, and Gol's a heavy-ass Pokémon, so it doesn't take long for him to crack under the literal pressure.

"Geez, alright! His name's Piers. He's... pretty cool, I guess." His face warms when Gol clicks for details. "Wasn't _so_ bad hangin' with him, that's all. He treated those kids right. Wouldn't mind... seein' him again, maybe..." He rolls onto his other side and scowls. "Don't tell anyone I said that, a'ight? I mean it. People are gonna think I'm goin' soft or some shit."

Golisopod bobs his head and makes that clicky-purr sound that means he's pleased. Happy for him, that he met someone nice and shit.

Guzma sighs again and curls forward to whisper. They're all alone in here, but what he's about to say is a secret between them. Can never be too careful with secrets. "Jus' between you and me... I kinda liked him. Shitshow aside, we had a lotta fun today. More fun than I had in a while. Almost didn't want it ta end..."

Gol perks up and pokes and prods him right in the stomach. What the— "Hey! Stop that!"

The little jabs have him barking out laughing before long. He might be tired, but Gol always had a knack for making him feel better. The dryness in the back of his throat has quelled into something ignorable.

They goof around for a while, Gol pestering and poking at him while he does the same right back, more for show than anything, since it's not like a creature covered in chitinous shell can be ticklish anywhere. Once he's too tired to go on, Golisopod has mercy on him and purrs questioningly, antennae twitching and nearly poking him in the face.

This again? Fine, he's more willing to talk about it now that he's in a better mood.

"Yeah, I do wanna see him again. Felt like we could be friends even if I hated his guts at the start. Maybe we could even... get to be _hoa pili_ someday, y'know? It'd be nice to have a close friend who don't know about all my past fuck-ups." He wrinkles his nose. "But nah, that's just... That's crazy talk. Fuck, he'd never wanna get to know me, who'm I kiddin'. Forget what I said."

Golisopod trills and pats him on the head with a gentle claw.

"What, you really think so?"

A more eager trill.

"I mean, I did leave him my jacket. He's gotta get it back to me somehow, right?"

Gol bobs his head and ruffles his hair.

"Well, I guess if you think he ain't so bad then what do I got to lose? Hope he stops by again to give me shit back." Guzma groans and slumps back on the bed. "It'd be just my luck if he passes it to the geezer instead."

He's kind of regretting leaving such a vague tether behind. What reason would Piers have to come visit Po Town again with how far away it is from where he's staying, and how much trouble they gave him today? Tch, he's in for a headache thinking about all this shit. Imagine if Piers really did come back with the hoodie. In that case, he's gotta be ready to play it all cool. Maybe ask Piers how much it saved him out there, or if he'd miss the jacket after giving it back. It's not like he really wants Piers to keep it or anything, but the idea of the Galarian dude being reluctant to return it puts a smirk on his face.

Gol walks back to his ball and gives him one final look of hopeful encouragement.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see. See ya later, bud," he yawns.

His eyes fall closed to the flash of light, and a pale face crosses his mind one last time before his much-needed nap drags him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Piers' shower was magical. All the sweat, grime, dust, and salt from running around abandoned buildings and hiking along mountains and getting sprayed by seawater were scrubbed off with vicious satisfaction, leaving him feeling infinitely fresher and lighter.

The same can't be said for Guzma's poor jacket. That thing was stuck on Piers' sweaty back all morning. He needs to wash it before giving it back to its owner. Wouldn't feel right to return it all covered in the morning's muck.

As sad as it is, he misses the grumpy bastard already. This morning's misfortune was one of the most memorable events on his tour so far, and something about the man captivates him.

The sooner he returns the hoodie the better, and there's nothing stopping him from taking the next ferry back to Ula'Ula and marching the arduous path back to Po Town, but Guzma's probably just as kippered as he is after running all over the island with him. He wants to give the man some space instead of showing up literal hours after they last said goodbye. By taking his time, he can at least pretend to not be socially-inept.

Pretend to be socially-ept, then? No, nobody says that...

He needs to find shit to do between now and whenever 'long enough for a second visit to not be weird' is. Now that everything's calmed down from this morning, he's swamped with free time and no idea how to utilize it.

The Hano Grand Resort isn't an appealing place to spend his time. The problem isn't that it's a shitty hotel. It's a fancy place. Too fancy, and that's the problem. It reminds him too much of the Rose of the Rondelands, meaning if he wants to relax, he can't stay here.

After a liberal application of newly-acquired sunscreen, a change into a more weather-appropriate outfit, and a quick stop by the resort's laundry room, Piers is out in Heahea city again, strolling aimlessly down the streets. It's a lot busier than it was at dawn. Livelier. Other tourists are bustling about, snapping photos and window shopping and happily chatting with locals going about their day.

All the other tourists are in groups of at least two. Alola's clearly a place to enjoy with friends. And here he is, mooching about by himself.

The rest of his free time up until the concert will be so dull if he keeps this up this aimless wandering. What's he supposed to do with all this downtime? His stint in Alola will be the longest he's spent in a single region on his tour, and the longest he's been able to think about more than performing.

He'd much rather get home as soon as possible instead of sticking around Alola, but at his sister's insistence and the subsequent encouragement from his best mate, he booked his final stop for a whole week instead of the usual three days. All his spare time is meant for "decompressin' and relaxin' somewhere sunny 'fore ya come back home," in the words of his sister, who knows full well he hates the sun, but the Alolan sun must be different from the Galarian one in enough ways for her to think it'd be good for him.

In the words of his bessie, "You better come back as tan and chill as me."

He'll have to report to the lunk that he already failed that miserable mission. The only thing a brief vacation's sunshine has to give him is a roasting.

Come to think of it, now that he's in Alola, he has the time and mental energy to respond to texts again, that's something he can do. Not that he has any messages. He told the one person most likely to bother him to leave him be during his tour, so he could focus. The Gym Leader easily agreed, crossed his heart and swore it, and to Piers' surprise the git actually followed through on not texting him a single message. He'd have thought Raihan would have cracked at least once.

There's no way Raihan would have forgotten about texting him altogether, right...? He's free to do so, now, Piers told him that once he landed in Alola he was fair game again. But that was so long ago, Raihan probably—

His pocket vibrates as if on cue. Piers whips his phone out.   
  


**Raihan:** Texting ban's up!!

  
Relief cuts the strings of tension holding his shoulders up. 

Took the bastard long enough, he landed in Alola damn near nine hours ago! Then again, Raihan's always so busy throughout the day, training like a madman and handling gym logistics and crafting perfect selfies. 

Piers runs some quick math in his head. It's nighttime in Galar now. Maybe Raihan wanted to wait until he could have a lie down and text continually before starting. 

He feels a bit silly, for doubting his best friend.   
  


**Piers:** surprised you opened with a text that short. who are u even  
  
**Raihan:** Wow you answered right away. Who are *you*?  
  
**Piers:** you tell me  
  
**Piers:** wdyw  
  
**Raihan:** Pierssssss  
  
**Raihan:** You know what I want ;)

  
A tiny smile crosses his face. It's been ages. 

He checks around for a corner to duck around to have some privacy, and spots one right nearby. The alley is shockingly clean, and hides him from the view of the street well enough that he can completely forget his surroundings and focus on texting his best friend.   
  


**Piers:** im takin the piss. good to hear from ya mate  
  
**Piers:** how's marnie?  
  
**Raihan:** She's doing just fine, don't worry  
  
**Raihan:** Don't you wanna know how I am?  
  
**Piers:** i know youre gonna tell me regardless  
  
**Raihan:** Lol you know me too well  
  
**Raihan:** You have NO IDEA how hard it was to leave you alone during your tour. Especially once you started trending. Can't believe I lasted this long without texting you 🧡  
  
**Piers:** just as shocked as you are  
  
**Piers:** i wouldna been able to answer even if u had  
  
**Piers:** travelin from region to region every 3 days was killer. was dead asleep every night after the first few stops  
  
**Raihan:** I figured! You totally stopped all your social media posts (not that you posted much to begin with) after Hoenn  
  
**Raihan:** Had to ask Kabu if there was anything there that could have killed you

  
The idea of his old coworkers talking about him while he's been away is unpleasant, but if it was just between Raihan and Kabu... it couldn't have been too bad. Kabu's an honorable bloke.   
  


**Piers:** well im clearly alive  
  
**Raihan:** Oh I know  
  
**Raihan:** No thanks to you ofc  
  
**Raihan:** I was able to keep up with you by seeing what all your new fans have been posting on Pokegram  
  
**Raihan:** Been checking your tags every day!  
  
**Piers:** stalker  
  
**Raihan:** You say it like it's a bad thing

  
"Cheeky..." he mumbles at his phone with a smile. He's missed this so much. Easy texting with people he knows, with someone he considers a real friend. He's grateful for the relationship they have, and all the work and hardship it took to reach this point. He lived an alright life before Raihan set his sights on him and thoughtfully worked his way closer and wrangled him into being friends, but now that they're together he doesn't know what he'd do without the guy.   
  


**Piers:** normally its you bein stalked by weird fans. thought youd know better  
  
**Raihan:** Yeah, wellllll~~~  
  
**Raihan:** It's different when you actually know your target. So it's okay. As your number one fan, I'm entitled to every scrap of detail.  
  
**Piers:** when you put it like that it almost sounds reasonable  
  
**Raihan:** Fuck yeah! My stalking is completely not creepy and I totally haven't been logging what you've been eating every night for the past four weeks.  
  
**Piers:** yea? so ya know i aint happy eatin so exotic. i miss galarian food.  
  
**Piers:** even your shite curry

  
Raihan's actually an impeccable cook. Piers just likes being fussy because Hammerlocke curry is too rich for his peasant-raised taste buds. And Raihan, always one to take things to the extreme, makes food so powerful it could knock people out with the scent's strength alone. Nearly has, more than once. 

Intense and overbearing, just like its cook. 

He misses it. Mental. Gone too soft, he has.   
  


**Raihan:** I'll be sure to serve you a heaping plate of my gourmet shit when you get back then  
  
**Piers:** you better  
  
**Raihan:** I will! I'll make it just for you. Fresh batch  
  
**Piers:** a personal chef, how fancy  
  
**Raihan:** I'll wear a cute apron and everything  
  
**Piers:** im holdin you to that. screenshottin it right now  
  
**Raihan:** But I'm a man of my word! How dare you insinuate I wouldn't wear an apron just for you  
  
**Piers:** you're right, how could I do such a horrible thing  
  
**Piers:** ....btw  
  
**Piers:** hate to disappoint u  
  
**Raihan:** Aw baby you could never  
  
**Piers:** shut up n let me finish  
  
**Piers:** hate to disappoint you  
  
**Piers:** but i aint comin back with a tan. walked around all mornin without sunscreen and nearly got my arse burnt to a crisp  
  
**Raihan:** 😂😂😂  
  
**Raihan:** What made you do that?  
  
**Piers:** long, long story mate  
  
**Raihan:** So? Let's hear it! I bet you've got all kinds of off the wall stories from your time as a legit rockstar  
  
**Piers:** dont call me legit its only my first tour out of galar  
  
**Piers:** but yea  
  
**Piers:** this ones so far off the walls its floatin in the middle of the room  
  
**Raihan:** Sure you can't call me for it? I miss hearing your voice  
  
**Piers:** nah, public. dont want anyone eavesdropping. you wanna hear the story or what?  
  
**Raihan:** I'm sitting down and I've already got tea on.

  
He can picture it. Raihan in his swanky Hammerlocke flat, laying longways on his fancy couch, expensive Rotom phone floating above him. The image draws a wider smile to Piers' face, and he settles more comfortably against the shadowed wall, bringing his far-cheaper cell closer to his face to text more rapidly.   
  


**Piers:** started like this...

  
Raihan's commentary and reactions as he relays this morning's adventure have him hiding laughs behind his hand. It's like it hasn't been a day since they've last communicated. Time passes so fast when they get into a texting groove...   
  


**Raihan:** So this Guzma guy's not so bad then  
  
**Piers:** no, hes not  
  
**Piers:** wouldnt mind seein him again maybe

  
He holds his breath as 'Raihan is typing...' pops up. He's far too conscious of every second that passes, and too many seconds pass. 

He's lined himself up for the chopping block by saying what he did, but there's no taking it back.   
  


**Raihan:** Who are you and what have you done with Piers  
  
**Piers:** killed him  
  
**Piers:** threw his corpse into the sea  
  
**Raihan:** Must have... I mean, you? Expressing that you WANT to meet someone? Man we should have put you on tour ages ago if it's made you this sociable already, wtf  
  
**Piers:** shut it  
  
**Piers:** i dont need you tellin me its weird, i already know its weird!  
  
**Raihan:** You have a thing for him or something??  
  
**Piers:** no you git  
  
**Raihan:** Hahahaaa jk jk  
  
**Piers:** i just  
  
**Piers:** think we could maybe be friends. thats all

  
Raihan takes too long to respond. Way too long. What's he thinking? 

No, he doesn't need to guess. He knows exactly where those clever thoughts might be racing. 

Piers has never, ever been the one to take social initiative, much less have a desire to go running around making friends. That's not who he is. Someone really must have murdered him and tossed his corpse into the sea, and this is all some freaky post-mortem hallucination. 

He sets his thumbnail in his teeth and nibbles, not caring about ruining the polish. 

When Raihan finally responds, it's woefully short, and instantly embarrassing.   
  


**Raihan:** Wowww  
  
**Piers:** nevermind somethin came up and i gotta go  
  
**Raihan:** Nah nah I'm not making fun of you! I'm happy for you actually! I'm just  
  
**Raihan:** Wow, I'm surprised  
  
**Piers:** keep your surprise to yourself is that so hard on you  
  
**Raihan:** Yes  
  
**Piers:** now before you spin that into an innuendo, got any other shite to say about it  
  
**Raihan:** Dammit lol  
  
**Raihan:** Yes actually, you never clarified what exactly you like about him. I wanna know what he's got going for him that's nabbed your attention so hard  
  
**Raihan:** Like is it just the whole "he's nicer than i thought" thing or is there more than that  
  
**Raihan:** ...Pieeers  
  
**Raihan:** Come on babe  
  
**Raihan:** Ahem..... hello... number one fan, entitled to the details...?

  
Piers is hardly focused on his phone as it slowly fills up all on one side. 

What he likes about Guzma... God, he doesn't want to say. Putting it all into words might make the whole thing sound silly. How is he supposed to explain the soft spot he has for family-oriented folk? Or the way he sees himself in Guzma's shoes, trying to prop up a dilapidated town of proud outcasts who have nowhere else to turn? Or how the man's coarse attitude and short temper make him feel at ease? 

Even saying it to himself sounds stupid. Keeping his feelings abstract in his own head is the best way to keep them safe... 

His thumbs lag over the screen long enough that Raihan takes pity on him and changes the subject.   
  


**Raihan:** You know, this whole scenario is a mite familiar if you think about it  
  
**Piers:** ...wym by that  
  
**Raihan:** Oh nothing. Other than, ya know, the obvious, based on what I know already.  
  
**Raihan:** Someone super handsome with a beautiful smile, meeting a guy who acts all tough and cranky at first...  
  
**Piers:** ok u can stop there  
  
**Raihan:** Who turns out to be really sweet when you get to know him a little...  
  
**Piers:** i will ignore you and thats a threat  
  
**Raihan:** And who loves his family and friends more than he loves himself okay I'm done  
  
**Piers:** now youre just conjecturin  
  
**Raihan:** About him or about you?

  
"The fuck is he on about..." His face is hot under his palm. 

"U-Uhm... Piers?" A shy voice startles the hell out of him. His head jerks up and he easily spots the source of the spook. It's a very short, young girl, clutching a notepad and looking uncomfortable standing in the darkening alley. 

How long was she standing there. She didn't see any weird faces he was making, did she? He tends to let his guard down when it's just him and Raihan, even when they're only communicating over the phone. 

"Yeah...?" He slowly lowers his arms and slips his phone back into his pocket, and pushes off the wall. 

She a fan? She did know his name, but she might have just gotten it from one of the posters he's seen around the city. 

Her eyes light up at the acknowledgement. "It's really you! I've been a fan since I saw a video from one of your other concerts a couple weeks ago! I'm so happy you're stopping in Alola, we hardly ever get celebrities here!" 

"O-Oh, er, I'm not really..." He tapers off. What can he say to that? It's true he's built up some fame thanks to his touring around, but it'll take some time to get used to being called a celebrity to his face. He's not like Rai, who wears popularity like a second skin. "Sorry. Somethin' ya wanted?" 

The girl perks up even more. "I was just wondering, if I could... get your autograph? And, m-maybe... if you need it... my friends and I can show you around the city?" 

Piers' eyes widen. He looks up behind the hopeful girl, and sure enough, there's a small gang of her friends huddled together around the corner of the entrance to the alley, watching them on tiptoes and holding slips of paper of their own. 

Their staring is making it very hard to guiltlessly say no. He's always has been a pushover when it comes to innocent faces and Yamper eyes... She certainly seems harmless enough, but sticking himself among a group of strangers to be led who knows where... 

"Er... one moment."   
  


**Raihan:** Answer meee  
  
**Raihan:** Can't escape me now that I'm free to text you all I please again!  
  
**Piers:** ok look this is an emergency  
  
**Raihan:** Come on, it was getting good!  
  
**Piers:** a fan just came up  
  
**Piers:** wantin my autograph  
  
**Raihan:** Oh, shit  
  
**Raihan:** You're living the famous life already, I'm so proud of you  
  
**Raihan:** They grow up so fast  
  
**Piers:** she and her friends wanna show me around the city  
  
**Piers:** what do i do

  
The orange-headed arse eggs him on. He flashes a scowl down at his phone and shoves it back into his pocket. Fine. Why not. If this ends with his death, or worse, his embarrassment, he can pin the blame on Raihan and force him to cover the funeral costs, whether it's for his corpse or for his pride. 

"Alright. Sure." It feels like he just signed some sort of binding contract. He pushes the ominous feeling away and holds a hand out for her notepad with a forced smile. "Here, what's your name?" 

She looks a second away from fainting from joy as she hands him the book and a marker and recites her name. He signs it with a flourish—still needs practice with that—and hands it back to her. 

"Thank you so much! Oh my gosh, I can't believe this is happening!" She squeals and hops in place, clutching his signature to her chest. "Now come on, we're gonna show you the whole entire island! Akala is waiting!" 

He blanches. "Now?" 

The girl grabs ahold of his bare arm and drags him to her friends, who spill around the corner vibrating with delight. 

He's actively regretting agreeing to this. But he can't back out now, not when he already said he'd go with them. He'd rather be shown around the islands by Guzma, not a gaggle of hyper kids, but... who knows, this could be fun... 

. . . 

Piers is exhausted. Physically and mentally. 

He is never underestimating the enthusiasm and energy of foreign fans given indulgence ever again. They didn't want to let him go! Or stop asking questions! It was like they wanted him talking constantly, it was exhausting. Far worse than what he went through this morning. He is never, ever doing that again. Galarian fans can be obnoxious, it's true—one only needs to look at his hometown to know that—but at least Galarians know not to push him for chatter. 

Raihan can stuff it for encouraging this. 

By the time Piers shook them off with the excuse of needing to go to bed early to fix jet lag, it already got dark. He didn't make any hard plans on when exactly to visit Ula'Ula again, but it's later than he'd like. And he hasn't been able to take the jacket out of the wash, it's definitely still wet. Lovely foresight on his part. 

He'll just have to hope it dries along the trip. 

It's his luck that the ferry is still running. The only hurdle left is the unknown of whether Guzma is willing to see him again today. 

. . .   
  


**Piers:** i meant him by the way. that you were conjecturin about  
  
**Piers:** i already know where i stand regardin my friends n family  
  
**Raihan:** Aaand? >:)  
  
**Piers:** and im gonna see if i cant add one more to that roster.  
  
**Raihan:** Damn, they really do grow up so fast  
  
**Raihan:** Well, in the words of my favorite poet, "I'm cheerin for you!"

  
. . . 

Raihan's little pep talk carried him to the ferry and helped him weather the foul rocking, but the moment he set foot on Ula'Ula all that bravado sank right along with the sun below the horizon.   
  


It was just... hard to keep his chin up when he had the entire walk to be alone with his thoughts and his doubts, no burning heat to distract him, only cool, comfortable night perfect for ruminating. His whole friendship plan sounded dumber and dumber with every minute that passed and every step he took, and by the time he knocked on the cop—Kahuna Nanu's door, he was saturated with regret for making the trip so soon like some kind of overeager fool.

"Sorry for botherin' ya this late..." Piers sheepishly hovers behind Nanu as the old man opens the gates of Po Town for the second time today.

Nanu only sighs and shakes his head. Piers feels like an awkward kid again, being dropped off at someone's house by a parent too tired to deal with him.

Knocking on the Kahuna's door this late wasn't the ideal course of action, but he had no other way of accessing Guzma's place unless he spontaneously sprouted wings to fly over that insurmountable wall.

At least he didn't have to explain himself. The codger took one look at the jacket in his arms, followed by a glance at the recovered pokeballs at his hip, and seemed to understand everything. Grabbed his keys and sandals, nudged away a few purple cats (the Meowths Guzma mentioned?) and told him to follow before he could even get a word out.

Before he can slip inside the town, a strong hand claps on his shoulder. Piers stops in his tracks and turns back around, stiff under the touch of a stranger.

"I should just give you a key at this rate," Nanu cracks with a fleeting smirk. The pressure on Piers' shoulder ramps up and he reluctantly bends over as the old man drops his facade of good humor. "You best be careful. You don't know him like I do. Give him that thing back and see yourself out."

With a final pat, Nanu turns away, leaving Piers jaw-dropped with the gates of Po Town sweeping closed in his face.

"What do you—"

The doors sweep closed in front of his nose.

The bleedin' hell was that? Why bring up something like that right before saying goodbye? It's almost like the codger didn't want Piers asking any questions. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to talk; the old man exudes that sentiment constantly. Either way, it was clearly meant as a warning...

The damp weight of the hoodie in his hands reminds Piers why he's here. He's got a plan to follow, convinced as he is that it's doomed to fail.

He sighs and turns down the weedy road. The twilight has just passed, the island growing darker under the low-risen glow of a pretty half-moon, and being inside Po Town is like being in the bottom of a well. If he didn't have somewhere to be, he'd want to loiter around, chin up, just to watch the stars bloom across the sky. In a tiny region like this the view must be amazing. He'd love to catch it someday. The only notable lights right now are the few visible inside the houses, little torches of life to light his way, and a single working street lamp is doing its meager best to showcase a spray-paint tag on the cobble.

The manor at the end of the road is completely dark, a void at the end of the street that he's willingly drawn towards. He comes to a stop in front of the house and gazes up at its face. Whole thing is looming. Bit creepy, but in a comforting way. The dark has never been something Piers feared.

The sound of his knock is blunt, but on the inside of the manor, it should be echoing through the empty space, alerting anyone who's listening that they have a visitor.

A stiff minute passes. Piers has folded and refolded the hoodie a half dozen different ways over his arm, along with a few careful, futile flaps to try and dry it out.

Maybe he should knock again... Or try another yell, since that got splendid results the first time. No, that would only piss Guzma off, if the bastard's even home. Plus, he doesn't want to disturb the kids that he now knows are living around here. Yelling is a no-go.

He takes a happy medium and bangs adagietto on the door. His foot picks up the rhythm to keep time while he waits for anyone to answer. If he came all this way for nothing he's going to feel so stupid... 

Guzma jolts awake for the second time today, and just like the first time, this second time is not of his own volition. Someone's knocking on the damn door. He wasn't expecting any company today. Fuck, and he was in the middle of an amazing nap, he was out like a goddamn light. Whoever it is is gonna pay for catching him at the worst time.

_Kanapapiki better not want somethin' from me._

He rushes downstairs in the dark, almost tripping blind as he pulls a tank top over his bare chest. Why's everybody gotta bother him right when he's sleeping or about to pass out? He's gotta be cursed or something.

He flings the front doors open with a nasty remark about to leave his lips, but halts once he recognizes who's slouching over his doorstep.

That's Piers.

...Wait, Piers?

That's definitely him. It might be dark as fuck (how long was he asleep for?), but the singer's so pale he almost glows in the dark. Makes the worry on his face stand out just fine.

Worry? Ah, shit, he's glaring, isn't he.

He loses his harsh gaze and Piers relaxes along with it. Now he feels bad for nearly spooking the guy. He knows he's got a scary face, doesn't blame anyone for being put off, especially if they're someone who's only met him once before. Make that two meetings, now. What's Piers doing back here...? He thought they were done for the day.

Guzma's confusion only increases when he spots his hoodie folded over pole-skinny arms. No way did this ex-Gym Leader rockstar tourist celebrity come all the way out to the ass end of Ula'Ula, at this time of night, just to give him his jacket back. There's no way. But here the guy is, right in front of him. Undeniable.

Amidst his bafflement, a small seed of happiness sprouts in his stomach— _Piers came back!_ —only to shrivel before it can put out a single leaf. Piers came back... almost too fast. Why is he here so soon? Shiiiit, Piers doesn't wanna wrap shit up with him ASAP by fulfilling the one obligation tying them together, does he? God, that would be just perfect, wouldn't it.

"...Hi?" Piers shifts his weight and hunches under the intensity of the inspection.

"Uh, yo." He blinks and awkwardly pulls away from the door, to give Piers enough room to slink inside. In the slim chance that he wants to come in instead of bailing as soon as physically possible. "Wanna come in?"

"Oh, er, I can pop in for a bit, yeah."

_Yes!_

"Though I'm really just here to give this back."

_No! Fuck!_

So Piers really does want to end things here. Piers is giving his threads back so he can fuck off and not bother with anything related to him or Team Skull anymore. What about the show for his kids? Maybe the singer changed his mind...

Oblivious to Guzma's internal turmoil, Piers shakes the fabric out and hangs the hood over his hand. "Sorry it's damp. I washed it, but wanted to get over here before it got too late, so I didn't manage to let it dry."

He was even in a rush. Now that's just salt in the wound.

"No problem." Not looking Piers in the eye, he takes his hoodie and throws its damp weight over his shoulder. Well, it was nice knowing him. So much for future _hoa pili._ He was stupid for thinking this would go anywhere. Sure learned his lesson about getting his hopes up in anyone, even kind strangers. "See ya at the concert, I guess."

Before the door can close all the way, something slams into it from outside. Guzma jerks it back open with an incredulous look. "The hell do ya want now?"

A ghostly hand draws back from empty space and rubs at a bare, bony shoulder. "Thought you were gonna invite me in."

"Uh," is what falls out of his mouth. Smooth.

"I can leave if it's too late. Don't wanna impose. Just thought we could... hang out a bit. If you want." Piers shrugs under his hand. "Your call."

Oh, hell, he was just being a paranoid bitch. This is his chance, he can't let Piers slip away now!

"Oh, yeah, no need ta leave right away! I can give ya the grand tour if ya want. Since ya came all this way 'n all. Might as well, right?" He pulls the door open wider and stands aside, heart beating harder at the prospect of someone visiting his place just to hang out. With him. Kinda like a friend.

That was close. He nearly fucked that up, but it's salvaged now.

Before Piers can respond that yeah, he'd love a tour, Nanu's warning rings in his head heavy and clear as an old iron bell.

_You best be careful. You don't know him like I do._

...Won't be the first alarm he's silenced. Even if Guzma tried to hurt him, he's got his Pokémon back with him. He's safe. Nanu's warnings don't apply here.

"I'd love a tour," he says with far more satisfaction than necessary. He ducks his head as he slips inside, and Guzma shoves the door closed with a bare arm the moment he has enough clearance. The slam is a straight shot of adrenaline to his heart.

He did it. He's in. First part's done. Now to follow up with the real meat of the plan. First some small talk to warm things up and find things in common, then some deeper conversation, then he'll see about getting Guzma's number, and _then_ he'll be home free. Easy. Right? Yeah, simple as that...

Just act natural, same as always. He's Piers, he's anything but inauthentic. He can do this. Only problem is he can't see a damn thing in here.

"Well, follow me." Footsteps retreat in the dark.

"Now hang on—" A light cuts on. Guzma's standing near the wall, hand on a switch, eyebrows raised at the outburst. Fuck. Just had to speak too soon. "Er. Sorry. Nevermind."

_Off to a great start, go me._

Guzma rakes his fingers through his hair, and that's when Piers notices that he's not wearing his usual sunglasses. His face looks so empty without them. Were the bags under his eyes always that dark? He's also no longer wearing the loose tee he was in this morning. Instead, a tank top hugs his torso and exposes his shoulders. His very broad, round shoulders. That top off very round, full biceps. And speaking of full, that chest...

Piers tears his eyes away. Guzma definitely noticed him staring, there's another tally on his list of fumbles. Focus, recover. Small talk, remember?

He clears his throat. "Thanks again for lettin' me borrow your jacket. Really saved me skin back there. Lit'rally."

The boss stuffs his hands into his pockets. "No problem..."

God, this is awkward. If only he wasn't the one pursuing something, and if only Raihan didn't already give him a cheerful blessing, he'd already be excusing himself to flee back to his hotel. He's not cut out for this sort of thing. Trying to make friends is masochism for an antisocial bloke like him.

Before he can come up with a reply that sounds engaging and cool, Guzma clears his throat and starts walking around the entry hall to start their tour. "That's the kitchen, over there. On the other side is a bathroom and a storage room."

He casts his eyes around, trying to commit the floorplan to memory in case he gets to come back again, but every so often his eyes drift to Guzma's back and linger for a moment. The tips and edges of the strange tattoo he saw this morning peek out from under the tank top. What's not hidden at all are Guzma's muscles, shifting under his tan skin as he gestures and points. That snug fabric leaves nothing to the imagination...

Every time his tour guide points something out it pops his bubble of distraction, and he's secretly grateful for it. He has to _focus._ This morning he was dehydrated enough while dying under the sun, no need to start being thirsty over again.

"This room here is for the girl Skull members, and on the other side is the room for the guys. They're the younger teens, they stay here in the manor with me where it's safer. The older crew have the houses ya passed on the way here." Sounds like a good system. Po Town seemed chaotic at first glance, but it's actually quite organized. Guzma isn't the boss for nothing.

The gangster stops at an upturned armchair, pale with dust. "It's still kinda shitty in here, but it's better than it was." Guzma grunts as he hefts the chair upright, back muscles taut.

"Wot d'you mean?" Piers asks, unable to look away while Guzma's back is turned. He can indulge in just one ogle. Just one, then no more for the rest of the night.

The armchair thuds into the carpet and triggers a miniature eruption of dust. The muscular man dusts his hands and admires the new arrangement before waving for Piers to follow him once more. "Place was a wreck. Walls had big holes in 'em where all the ripped wallpaper is. Most of the furniture was busted beyond repair, but we kept what we could. A lot of the roofin' was missin'. Had ta fix all that."

Piers recalls the ladder and hammer he saw on a roof during his first pass through Po Town. So they're fixing all this up by themselves? Commendable... If only it was so easy for Spikemuth.

"You did a good job of it," he reassures. "Don't worry, I'm the last person to complain about a lack o' posh digs. Shit that's too shiny and clean feels unwelcomin', to be honest."

It's a little fucked how this messy, dingy place puts him at ease, but he's comfortable knowing that about himself. He's long come to terms with the fact that he was born, raised, and made for environments just like this. A regular street Zigzagoon crouching cosy in the ginnel bins. He'd much rather be here than the swanky resort Alola dropped him in. Po Town makes him feel less homesick.

"Heh, yeah, I agree with ya."

Joy of joys, another thing they have in common.

Guzma points to the door they pass. "So this is my bathroom. It's pretty messy, otherwise I'd let you see." As if Piers would mind it.

They make it to the last door, right at the end of the hall. Guzma pulls it open and gestures inside. "And as ya might remember from this mornin', this here's my room."

Curious about the sort of place the boss considers most personal, Piers takes his very first step inside.

The room is spacious. Dim. Cluttered with things on the floor. The carpet is the same hotel-red as the rest of the house, and the walls are the same shade of ashen peach. There's spray paint adorning a painting hung on the back wall, which would be distasteful to most, but Piers considers the splash of magenta to be quite nice. Nothing wrong with personalizing your own space.

Guzma shuffles after him and tosses the jacket aside without even looking where it lands.

_Come on, I just washed that thing, it needs to dry properly..._

Guzma starts straightening things up. Picking up bottles, cans... He's a drinker. Moderate or problem?

"Sorry it's still a mess. Never really get visitors here. But come on in, make yerself at home."

"Don't worry about any mess, this ain't bad at all." Not the worst clutter he's seen by far. There's some real dumps back home. And again, shit that's spotless puts him on edge, so this is just fine.

The bed is the furniture that draws his attention first, with its bold pine green covers and absurd size. It looks like it can easily fit three people. Do anyone's heads ever go on those flanking pillows, or does Guzma just lay in the middle by himself? The image of scared younger kids crashing with their guardian for the night is a vivid one. Guzma's a total softie for them, it would come as no surprise.

The next thing that catches his eye is something so ostentatious he's shocked he didn't focus on it the moment he stepped in.

"You seriously have a throne in your room?" He marvels out loud and strides right up to the bedroom's centerpiece, anxiety forgotten for the first time all evening.

It _is_ a throne.

Up close he can see it's a very DIY setup; the careful construction and organization of it made it easy to not notice. The "stairs" and "stage" are merely cabinets laying face up, with a runner carpet defining the path up to the royal purple seat. The throne itself is a comfortable looking chair, high-backed and regally framed by the painting on the wall.

Behind him, Guzma doesn't pause in his quest to vanquish all the alcoholic rubbish. "You can sit on it if ya want. That's where I spend most of my time."

He's so nonchalant about having this thing in his room. It's so pompous, so bold. So unapologetically expressive. Dammit, it just makes Piers want to befriend the man even more.

"'S fuckin' _weird,_ mate, I love it." He turns around with a smile daring to creep onto his face. "Can I see _you_ sit in it?"

Guzma dumps another few bottles into a bin and looks over his shoulder with a smirk. "Ya sure ya wanna see big bad Guzma sittin' on his throne?"

The lighter tone does not go amiss. Is he... playing along?

An electric thrill races up Piers' spine. "Tha's what I said, innit?"

"I heard ya, just makin' sure. I've had more than a few people cream themselves at the sight. Gotta make ya sign a waiver first."

The crude goading pulls his hopes up higher. This is a new level of casual. The crassness reminds him even more of Spikemuth, burns some additional homesickness away.

Piers tilts his head back with a bright sneer. "I ain't signin' nothin'. Show me this wank-worthy sight, I can take it."

The look he gets in return sparks a familiar feeling of challenge.

"Oh yeah? See if you can last ten seconds without jizzin' your pants."

"Don't see any money near your mouth. Big talk's easy, show me the goods."

This kind of banter feels so good. Dropping into crass is like shedding an ill-fitted jumper. His mouth is made for this.

He tosses his hand towards the throne. "What are ye waitin' for?"

The so-called 'big bad Guzma' throws him challenge-accepted smirk and waltzes up the steps to his throne. Once centered on it, the man turns on his heels, drops onto the royal-purple seat, and relaxes into a pose he must have held a thousand times before with how easily his body settles into it.

His posture is horrible; Guzma's torso is folded nearly in half, with an elbow propped on his knee and hand supporting his jutting head. His fingers rest over his lips to slightly hide the twist lingering there. The boss's other arm is bent and braced, hand flat on his knee, and his legs are spread wide. The skull-logo chain dangles down and glints in the low light as it turns.

Poised and smirking on his throne, the gang boss is the image of lax, self-assured power. At this close distance, Piers can trace every muscle in the man's arms and shoulders. Strong...

The hanging gold catches the light as well as Piers' gaze. He stares at the space it occupies between Guzma's legs.

...Now he's thinking about what else is between Guzma's legs.

_Oh, fuck me. Shit, not like that, I meant... I meant damn. **Damn** he looks good._

He tears his eyes free of the pendant and locks onto Guzma's pleased smirk instead, which isn't any safer. Dammit, he can't let himself be done over like this. If attractive men were his downfall he'd have fallen long ago.

Fuck. What starts with F and rhymes with hocus?

Piers swallows and his hand rises to hook into the metal circle at his throat. His safety ring, keeping him afloat.

"Big Bad Guzma, was it...?"

The ridiculously-titled man leans back in his throne, clearly pleased with Piers' reaction, the arse, and stretches in his seat. "Yep. That's me. Ya boi, Guzma. The _big bad boss_ of Team Skull." His back cracks as he stretches in a tight arch.

_Don't look at his stomach. Don't look. But if you have to, then just a peek..._

"Thought your gang disbanded," he fires without taking proper aim. That dark treasure trail distracted him.

"We did. Just don't know what else ta call ourselves. The kids still call me 'Boss' and I'm too used to hearin' it ta just let it go."

His heart thumps harder and he thumbs across a spike. "That why you kept that gaudy thing?" He nods at the chair.

"Hey, don't diss the throne. My gang loves seein' me up here, they think I look hella cool. Like a real boss, y'know? I admit, it does give me a power trip."

Guzma looks to be in the middle of one right now. Normally a high-minded attitude like that would only piss Piers off, but right now, rather than pricking under his skin, this here... seeps a bit deeper.

He can't say he hates it. He especially doesn't hate what he's looking at. Ugh, those fucking arms, he'd love the chance to give them a squeeze...

"Oh, I'm sure it does..."

The boss jumps to his feet and Piers snaps his eyes up. Guzma looks put upon. Shit. Did he mess something up? What did he say, how was he standing, where was he looking, what was it?

"Heh. I'm taller than you for once," the boss comments, casual as can be.

Maybe it was nothing. He shouldn't try reading into strangers so much, it's a bad anxious habit of his. Then again, if everything goes right, Guzma won't be a stranger for long.

"Not used to bein' short, are you?" When they first met, he hated the idea of looking up at the boss from down below, but right now, it's not so bad. Not even because Guzma's attractive, it's more because he likes the man better.

"Nope. I'm the biggest guy I know around here. They don't call me _big_ bad Guzma for nothin'." He crosses his arms and sod it all, those muscles. Big arms, big attitude, probably a big something else. That last one is just speculation. God dammit all, this isn't productive thinking. Get back on track. The only type of buddy he wants to make of Guzma is the kind without any specialization affixed to it.

Piers lets go of his choker and approaches with steady, measured steps. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, centered in front of the big bad boss, and pulls himself up out of his usual slouch. The height difference quickly closes and Piers can't help but be pleased. Guzma's still taller, but he's not so far away now.

"Well, I'm glad to give you the novel experience o' bein' tiny." He tilts his head back as he stands at his full height. "Wanna know what's novel for me?"

"Hmm?" Guzma tilts his head. "What's that?"

"Creamin' my pants." Keeping a straight face after that is impossible. His mouth crooks into a poorly-suppressed smirk and he fights not to snicker. "Took more'n ten seconds though. Think you've gotta work a little harder next time."

Guzma loses a piece of his composure in the form of wider eyes. There's no hiding it this close, and it feels so good to catch the man off guard. "Well, ya still did it." Guzma clears his throat and recovers. "Good ta know I have that effect on all kindsa people," he drawls and drops back onto his throne. "Even pretty guys like you."

Now it's his turn to stall out.

Guzma's comment hangs in the air like a neon sign, blinking as obnoxiously as any strip club storefront, lit up with promises to make dreams come true. Which is a real fucking presumptuous analogy, what the fuck is he thinking?

_Get over yourself, so what if he's hot and maybe interested. Doesn't mean anything. Still, can't hurt to ask. Just to get to know him more. As friends._

He musters the courage to get over the hurdle of starting the question.

"Hey..." He pauses. He doesn't know how much Guzma cares about having his private life pried into by someone who's still a stranger. It's still too early to ask…

"Hey what?" Guzma pitches back. He's dying to know where this is going. Piers is drooling over him right now, plain as day, and while it is a stroke to his ego... he's kinda worried about where this might go. Not that he'll show it, he has a front to maintain. Confident, strong, always able to brag, not concerned at all with what other people think.

So what if Piers thinks he's hot? So what if Piers might want a piece? It's not like that could get in the way of them becoming friends.

Unless...

_Unless he wants what she wanted. Likin' my body, nothin' else about me. He coulda come back this late at night 'cause he wants somethin' specific to happen..._

His heart squeezes. That can't be the case. There's no way. But the way Piers was looking at him just a minute ago...

"C'mon, spit it out." His finger taps the arm of his throne. Worried or not, it feels pretty good to give the guy orders from up here. Gotta admit.

"Just curious," Piers hazards, and continues when motioned to get on with it. "You, er... flirtin' 'cause you're available, or what?"

There it is.

See, he _was_ gonna ask if Piers wanted to stay the night and sleep here instead of heading all the way back to his hotel, but the game's officially changed. Piers asking that can only mean one thing, right?

He's gotta make sure that's not it. Piers has to be different from _her,_ has to be. Piers treated his kids with respect, never looked down on him, thanked him earnestly for his help. He's already different from _her._ The big bad boss can give him a chance.

Guzma shrugs where he sits, leaning his head back a little without taking his eyes off his guest. Piers hooks his finger into his choker again and gives it a little tug. What's with that thing? He sure likes pulling on it a lot. Gotta be a nervous tic.

Meaning... Guzma's got the upper hand right now. He's still in control. He lowers his head back down with an over-the-top smirk.

"Why d'ya wanna know?"

"I just..." Piers stammers and crams more of his finger through the ring. "I was just curious. Ain't that deep."

Oh hell no. He's not about to let that weak reason slide.

"Why so curious though? _Ya interested?_ " He forges ahead, building confidence and aggressive charm with every word that drips out of his smirking mouth. "Can't say I blame ya. Ya boi's hot and he knows it."

He rises to his feet, puts another lecherous twist to his mouth, and leans back with his hands laced behind his head, casually showing off his torso with half an eye on Piers' reaction.

He's so full of himself!

Heat floods to Piers' face as his straight posture crumbles. His heart announces itself in his ears, and his head is scrambled just from glimpsing those bare flexing arms. He always had a thing for some muscle...

The only move he can safely make is to avert his eyes from Guzma's standing swagger. He might look somewhere incriminating if he keeps his eyes anywhere on that amazing body.

His silence doesn't garner any mercy. "So? Want a chance at sleepin' with _the boss?"_

It's the final nail in the coffin of his composure. Piers ducks his head and frees his hand from his choker to instead block all lines of sight to the boss's body, so he can at least hide how red he is. Doesn't do a thing for his body language though.

Guzma's really pushing for this, ain't he. Legitimately offering. Piers wants to kick himself for considering it. It's not like him to be so out of sorts over a flirtatious man. A flirtatious, handsome man, serving himself up on a silver platter held high overhead and asking him to jump for it.

"I..."

In all his touring so far, one night stands and flings never appealed to him. Within his tight schedule he certainly _could_ have made time for quick and dirty fucks in his dressing rooms or behind his venues. No-strings-attached opportunities fell into his lap left and right courtesy of horny, desperate, admittedly attractive fans, but not once did he ever consider sleeping with them. Focusing on his tour was always more important.

He's not touring to play games.

He's strictly touring for business.

So why the hell is Guzma affecting him so much? Is it because he has room to breathe in Alola? Space to think ahead further than the next show? ...Is he just missing the affection he's been so spoiled by from his best friend back home? Could be, but also... something about Guzma's personality makes him want to go along for the ride. Everything about him is magnetic.

It would be so easy to lapse into temptation and say yes to him right now. Piers wants to be friends, he does, and people can still be friends while getting laid. He already has experience with that. But the thing is, he doesn't want sex and flirting to become the focus of their budding... whatever it is they have going on. Their thing. It's a nice thing, so far. They might clash and bicker and snap at each other, but that's the best kind of dynamic Piers can ask for. He's a prickly person and feels most comfortable when there's no pressure to pretend to be polite, no fake anything, no hiding scuffed or ragged natures.

He's confident they have a good shot at this friendship thing. They'll just have a _better_ shot if they keep sex out of the equation, meaning PIers will have to ignore his attraction, which is easier fucking said than done. Guzma's wildly attractive, exactly his type, rough around the edges and rebellious in the best ways, but he can't let that distract him. He has to carry on.

Besides, he carries caveats with him, as a sexual partner. He's not a conventional, ideal lover under certain circumstances, and Guzma sounds experienced based off how easily he flirts and struts his stuff. Depending on how they go about sex (not that they will, this is a pure hypothetical), it's a guarantee that Piers would only make things difficult, or, worse, disappointing. Then he'd never be able to look Guzma in the eye.

But forget about that sex stuff, that's all hypothetical. Reality is right here, in Guzma's bedroom, with the man standing tall before his throne and waving temptation around like a feather toy. Too bad Piers isn't taking the bait. He's made up his mind.

His hand lowers from his face, skipping past his choker to dangle at his side and exposing the blush that hasn't gone down one bit. No use pretending he doesn't have one at this point.

"Well?" Guzma leans down to try and peek around his bangs, but he's not about to lose any more ground by leaning away. He stubbornly holds still and lets his pink face be inspected. "What'll it be, sweetcheeks?"

Sweet—?

Okay. He has to fight back somehow. Scrounge some dignity back from where he dropped it. It'll be hard, what with that damn handsome smile and damn pompous attitude, but with his decision already made, dancing Guzma's dance shouldn't be so hard.

"That big bed not just for show?" he retaliates, snide behind his blush.

"Nah..." A low chuckle. "Ain't just for show." The boss steps down a stair, chain swinging.

That one step made his throat tighten. Committal to no one night stands or no committal, his mind still drifts to the what-ifs, and Guzma still has the upper hand. But he refuses to let the lout win this stupid flirting game even if it kills him.

Call it a personality flaw. Even if he knows he's out of his depth, he has to throw himself into the storm, has to, because to drown fighting the waves is better than letting the storm destroy the boat with him still in it. Even for something as petty and trivial as this.

"Is it now."

"Wanna see why?" Guzma prods. Rocking the boat.

"Show me." Jumping into the water.

Guzma steps down to the floor grinning like a Sharpedo, bumping shoulders as he pushes past. Piers lets the shoulder-check turn him around. Guzma strolls to the bed with all the leisure of a man late to his own party, and turns on a heel.

"This is why." He leaps backwards onto the obscenely large bed, gaining an impressive distance, and lands nearly square in the center of the mattress. The bed springs screech at every bounce, and just like that, the sky clears.

There's no way this is foreplay.

Piers gapes as the boss wiggles perpendicular until his head is by the pillows. "I'm a tall fucker, and sometimes I sprawl out in my sleep." He extends his arms and legs for show. None of them come close to hitting any edges.

He was anticipating something extreme, like Guzma dropping his trousers, but instead, he does this. Flop on the bed and casually talk about sleep as if none of the last several minutes ever happened.

Guzma folds his hands behind his head and rattles on. "Sometimes I toss and turn all night, too. I had a smaller bed way back when, but I was tossin' so much I ended up on the floor all the damn time. So I got a bigger one. And _that's_ why the bed ain't just for show."

So he was pulling Piers' leg the whole time.

"You achin' twat..." he groans under his breath. His posture loosens up and he drags his hand down his face.

That solves everything. It was all just friendly teasing, thank fucking god. Looks like Guzma's on the same page he is. This is perfect. Perfect.

He nearly misses the mutter. "Sometimes, some of the younger kids get nightmares. They didn't all come from good homes, y'know? So sometimes, they come in here and ask if they can sleep here. I let 'em."

His first impression of the bed was right. Guzma does let his kids take shelter with him. He gives them a lot of tough love, but when they need soft, their boss recognizes that. It's incredibly sweet.

"That's very kind of you," he says.

"Anyways." Guzma sits up with a playful grin and Piers startles. "I _was_ gonna ask if ya wanted to stay here for the night, instead of gettin' back on a boat. But if you're here to _bang_ me, then I dunno. You should probably take me to dinner first."

Dinner? Perfect opening. He doesn't hesitate.

"Yeah, we _should_ do dinner sometime." Wait. Backtrack. Guzma looks—worried? Shit.

_Do you realize what that sounded like? Way to bungle that, how daft can you get?_

"Or lunch, rather. I'm not askin' you on a date, sorry, I just thought we could get food again sometime." Someone please end this self-inflicted suffering. "Only if you want. No pressure."

He fumbled that so fucking hard. He meant to be way smoother than that, there were a dozen better things he could have said, but it's too late. It is what it is...

_He's going to say no and you know it. You're so fucking bad at this, why are you even trying? Best spend the rest of your vacation time in your hotel room after this disaster. Forget getting his number to keep in touch..._

Piers... wants to hang out? For real?

When was the last time someone other than his kids or Plumes verbally expressed a desire to spend time with him? Just to kick back and chill? The only other people he can say he socializes with are Master Hala and old man Nanu, but neither of those geezers really count as peer material, being Kahunas and all.

He really can't remember a last time this happened.

Guzma licks his lips and lays back down, folding his arms around his head to hide the heat rising to his face. Be cool. "Yeah, we can hang out. No biggie."

No answer. Was... that not what Piers wanted?

A short inhale misdirects into more silence, but after a beat, Piers speaks up for real.

"Tomorrow sound good?" The floor creaks. "Or is that too soon. There's no rush."

"Tomorrow's good. I'll clear my schedule for ya." All his worries about Piers' motivations fade away as excitement buds in his stomach. Tomorrow. He has a social call tomorrow! But, wait, aren't they hanging out right now? Why wait until tomorrow to get started?

"Bazzin'." Another creak. "I'll, er... head out then. Don't wanna overstay my welcome. Bothered you enough today already."

His good mood falters. Goodbye already? Everything was going so good, but if Piers wants to bail for the night there's not much he can do about it. It is getting kinda late, and they've both had a long day.

"Yer not overstayin' or botherin' nothin'. But uh. Go if ya gotta." He pays extra close attention to his own face, making sure he doesn't look emotionally affected by Piers leaving in case he's being watched. Can't look like a softie.

"Right... Well, er, in a bit, then. Got a ferry to catch." Now that might be a problem. For Piers, that is. For Guzma it might be the perfect opportunity. "But first—"

"Hang on a sec." He sits up and checks his wrist. Shit, he never put on his watch this morning. The wall clock might not be accurate since it's been a while since he changed the batteries.

He pulls his phone out to check the time. Oh. Wall clock was right after all. Whoops.

Piers suddenly sweeps closer with his own phone in hand. "Good idea, was just gonna ask. What's y—"

"It's eleven o'clock. The last ferry left at ten-thirty." He presents the screen.

Piers does a double take and lowers his own phone. "Oh. The ferry times. Right..." A grimace crosses his face and he shoves the device into his pocket. Sucks that he's upset about the time, but it'll pay off soon enough.

"It happens. Don' worry about it." He only feels a little bad for being happy about the guy being stranded in Ula'Ula for the night. This way they've got no choice but to hang.

"Won't let it happen again, don't worry. Guess I can ask Nanu for help if he's still up..."

Like hell is he letting Piers go off to that old man.

Guzma clambers off the bed and claps Piers on the shoulder, exuding as much casual _no-problem-at-all_ as possible. The skinny guy jumps under the touch but doesn't budge much otherwise. "Hey, man, don't worry about Nanu, you can stay here. I got some pants ya can borrow, and a shirt. Lemme get 'em." 

Before his guest can say yes or no, Guzma's already elbow-deep in his dresser. Gotta find one of the smaller pairs of sweatpants without any holes in them. There should be a smaller shirt in here somewhere; he rarely gets rid of clothes even if they don't currently fit anyone in Po Town. Never know when you might need spare fabric for anything, if nothing else.

"Er... if you're offerin', then sure? I really don't want to imp—"

"Nahhh, you're good. Lemme just..." He finds what he needs at the very bottom of the drawers, shoved at the back. They're old and pretty worn, but soft and holeless.

He chucks them Piers' way. They smack the stranded singer square in the chest, and Piers fumbles to catch them before they hit the floor. Once they're in his hands, he stares at the pajamas like he has no idea what they're for.

"Change inta those. And look, ya know my bed's big enough ta share. Or if yer not comfortable with that, I can sleep on the floor or on a couch in the other room or somethin'. No big."

His mouth kinda ran there, practically demanding that they share the bed. He wouldn't be surprised if the guy says no. He's pushing his luck all sorts of directions tonight, hoping that one sticks and he can cash out on something worthwhile.

Piers' head jerks up. "No, no, I'd never take your bed from you. I- I don't take up too much space, we can share."

False alarm. Luck is on his side after all. Guzma makes a show of looking the guy over from slouched head to toe. "Ya sure about that? You're taller'n I am and that's sayin' somethin'."

Piers goes pink and pulls the pajamas close to his chest. Wait, no, he's pulling on that choker again. "I curl up. An' I don't toss or turn. Won't bother you none, promise."

Geez, he's so concerned about being a bother. It was just a joke.

"Ya better not. If ya do I'll jus' hafta hold ya down. Ya look easy to pin." Like Guzma has any right to say that with how _he_ sleeps. He's just trying to lighten the mood and mess with Piers a little more.

And what do you know? It works. The switch flips and the singer snaps back. "I'll fuckin' fight ye."

"Ya'd lose."

"Doesn' matter. Point is that I at least try to get your heavy arse offa me." Piers' hand lowers from the choker and he shakes out the clothes to inspect them. Finally, progress!

"Ya callin' me fat? With yer skinny ass I'm sure everyone weighs a metric fuckton in comparison."

"Answered your own question is what ya did. But no, you're not fuckin' fat. Look at you." Piers throws a glare up and down his body, and coming from him, the compliment doesn't feel like a lie. "You're plenty fit."

"So now yer sayin' I'm a beefcake. Tell me somethin' I don't know, sweetcheeks." He puts his hands behind his head with a playful grin. This back-and-forth is getting fun.

Piers' gaze lingers on his arms. His shoulders get a little stiff, and get even stiffer at the smooth tone wrapping Piers' accent. "Somethin' tells me you like hearin' shite you already know."

His insides twist up a little. Fuck. Okay, maybe he should double check. Just to be safe. "Does that mean ya really _do_ wanna bang me? Heh. Maybe I can do without dinner just this once."

His stomach turns but his smile stays up.

_Say it. Say you're only here to fuck me._

Piers narrows his eyes like he's pondering something. Considering it? Before Guzma can try saying anything else, to chicken out or push Piers further or whatever the fuck might fall out of his mouth, a scoff is thrown his way.

"Turn around so I can change."

He's happy to drop his arms and turn around to give some privacy. That was close. He seriously thought things were gonna stop going his way, . The important thing here is that Piers didn't say yes.

...He didn't say no, either. Piers could have just been deflecting because the answer really would have been yes.

Clothes rustle and drop to the floor. Guy doesn't waste any time.

Guzma swallows, keeping a keen ear open for the sound of clothes being pulled back on. If he turns around and Piers is naked or something...

"...Thanks for lettin' me crash on such short notice, by the way." Piers' muttering snaps him out of it. "Can't believe I never checked the ferry times..."

"No problem. Yer new here, it happens."

"Won't make the same mistake twice. Hate inconveniencin' anyone..."

There's a whisper of pants being pulled up long legs, and some little part of him relaxes. "Yer not an inconvenience around here. If anythin', yer good entertainment ta have around."

A derisive snort hits his back. "Oh, yeah. Entertainin'. 'S what I'm here for, I guess."

That little part of him that relaxed? Yeah, it's tense as fuck now. He licks his lips and tries not to fidget.

"Well, yeah. Right? Yer here for a show." He licks his lips. "Unless ya mean 'here' like in my house. Then I gotta ask what kinda 'entertainment' ya have in mind fer me. Hah."

He really hopes it's not what his mind is insisting. Everything Piers is saying can either be interpreted in a way that either makes his anxiety shoot through the roof or makes him doubt his own sanity. This shit isn't good for him.

"You'll have to wait and see, I suppose."

Like hell he is! Guzma whips around to confront Piers on whatever the _fuck_ he's really talking about, but freezes the instant he lays eyes on the man. Whatever he was about to say is swallowed back down along with the new lump in his throat.

If he thought Piers looked good in his jacket earlier today, it's got nothing on Piers in his pajamas.

The top is a little short, but adorably loose, and the pants don't even reach his ankles. The drawstring ends are pulled out as far as the waistband's scrunching allows to cinch the pants in place, but it's only doing so much to secure the waist. They're clinging to those skinny hips like fingertips on a cliff.

"Think I could still be entertainin' wearin' this on stage?" Piers huffs and reaches up behind his head. The shirt lifts too, exposing a pale slice of bare waist. He always knew Piers was thin, but seeing the guy in baggy clothes dramatizes it. His hands would fit perfectly around that waist... And that V line, fuuuck.

He might have been worrying himself into a knot over Piers wanting to get lucky tonight, but now? Now he's kinda wishing he could get lucky with _Piers._ Way to go, Guzma. Dug himself into one big hypocritical mess.

"Yeah, I..." Piers starts dragging the tie out of his hair and Guzma's brain stops working again.

The elastic takes a long, long journey down, and he tracks every inch. Piers tosses his head to encourage the monochrome masses to shake loose and fall evenly over his back, and once that's done, he goes an extra killer mile and fluffs it all out.

It's mesmerizing. Guzma bites the tip of his own tongue before he can make some suicidal comment. Just like he was conscious but not really aware of Piers being skinny, the long hair was hard to be ignorant of, but... seeing it untied and down like this is... wow.

His throat needs clearing. Hell of a mane. There's so much of it, and it looks silky smooth, too. What it would feel like running through his—

_Nope. That's it, that's enough. Don't even go there. Forget sex, that kinda intimate shit ain't somethin' you can have. He hardly knows you._

That bitter reality check shakes him well out of his thoughts. Piers doesn't seem to have noticed a thing. "Yeah, I think you could. Maybe if the pants were longer."

"Yeah?" Piers sticks a leg out and inspects his own bare ankle. "Not shorter?"

They'd look better all the way off. What he wouldn't give to see those pretty legs exposed, maybe even spread, just enough for him to fit betw—

_Guzma, what the hell is wrong with you? You were the one wantin' nothin' ta happen!_

That single line soured his mood instantly just like it always does, snaps him awake from whatever daydream he was having and throws him down from the clouds.

He can't let anything show. He's gotta keep up with the casual teasing so his potential new friend doesn't realize anything's wrong. But where does he go from here? He scans the room, looking for something, anything to use as inspiration, but his eyes keep coming back to Piers. More specifically, his hair. Maybe that's it.

"Why not longer? Matches yer hair." He stretches a smile over his face. "Does the carpet match the drapes?"

A tired brow arches, but it doesn't do a thing to budge the artificial smirk off his face.

Without saying a word, Piers sets his weight on one leg, tips his head back, and touches his borrowed clothes. One hand plucks at the front of the shirt, and the other hooks a thumb into the waistband of the sweats. A pink tongue sticks down out of a half-open mouth and the rockstar tugs his hands in opposite directions. Just enough to reveal the dark line of hair down his stomach as well as the start of where it leads.

All black.

This just isn't fair. That one peek is enough for imagination to seize and run wild with. Pale skin under his touch, rough fingertips pushing through his hair, a rich voice sighing and moaning his name, calling him Boss...

After holding the skanky pose long enough for him to nearly lose it, Piers pulls himself back together. His mouth closes and he tugs the sweats back up to hang precariously on his hips, and he pushes his hand through his wild hair with a shrug.

"Ehh," is what Piers concludes. With that, he turns away and pads over to the bed, leaving Guzma standing there with his mouth hanging open like a dumbass and his heart pounding like it's trying to fucking escape.

He might be in over his head, but it's too late now. They already agreed to share the damn bed.

Good thing it's big enough to sleep with distance between them.

Gotta move on from this...

He awkwardly stalks off to get the lights. He only left two lamps on, so it doesn't take long to get one, then the other.

Without any windows, the room is thrown into pitch blackness. Much better. Can't think confusing thoughts if he can't see the source of his confusion. Talking should be easier now.

A sharp inhale pinpoints Piers' position in the dark. "H-Hang on."

What now? He flicks the lamp back on and gives Piers a wary look. "Wassup?"

The tall man's shoulders hike up. "I... not to sound like a baby, but..."

"Dude, what is it?"

"I'm just not used to it bein' so dark." Piers rushes to explain further, he's about to be judged. "My hometown's always lit up at night. Tryin' to sleep in total darkness feels... weird."

No way, is he scared of the dark? For such a striking-looking guy, that's kinda... cute? Funny. Both. Never woulda guessed it. This side of Piers is new, he never would have guessed that the guy who roared and snarled so much this morning would angle towards a thing like _please keep a nightlight on for me._

Guzma's the last person to make fun of someone for it, though, so he'll keep those thoughts to himself. "No worries, man. Some kids here're scared of the dark, too."

"Wha—I'm not scared! 'S weird, tha's all..."

"Didn'tcha say yesterday you were a dark type Gym Leader?"

"So what?"

"Gotta admit it's kinda ironic."

Piers lowers his arm. Guzma didn't even realize he was touching his choker again. "Kinda is, yeah. Sorry for the trouble."

"Hey, I don't judge." He's got no problem with leaving a light on even if it does ruin his plan to avoid seeing his sleepover buddy. There's a better one than this to leave lit, though, so he shuts them back into darkness, taking note of the silence, and seamlessly walks around all the furniture in the dark. The lamp behind the bookcase is his target. There. Once on, it gives the room a nice low light, and it's blocked by the shelves and filtered through the bottles, too, so it's not shining in their eyes and puts some neat colors around the walls.

"There we go. C'mere, let's get some sleep."

They both need to chill out. Been a long-ass day. Long-ass _evening._

Before making his way to the bed, Guzma suddenly notes their height difference. The foreigner is _way_ too tall to stretch out on the bed normally. If he wants to be a good host he's gotta make sure Piers can sleep comfortably. If he gets shitty rest he might not wanna stay over again in the future.

"Lemme fix the bed first. I just have ta..." He gets on his knees and pushes.

"Oh, you don't have to bother w—ah, fuck it. Do what you want." Piers steps back to let him work.

The legs of the bed catch on the carpet and resist every inch, but he's got this. "Almost... there," he huffs.

Soon as the bed hits the wall, he pops up and drags the blanket off, grabs all the pillows, and throws everything back on sideways, making the bed once again. Not cleanly, since they're just gonna mess it up all up when they get in.

"All made." He crawls over the bed, this time to find a place to lay down. He really should get a new mattress, this shit's creaky as fuck. Once he saves up enough extra cash after he rebuilds Po Town, he'll get one. After he gets the kids some nice things first. They deserve the best and they always come first.

"Ya comin' or what?"

Piers snorts. He must be feeling all better now, good. "Don't lose yer head, I'm comin'."

The springs complain less under his lighter weight, and Guzma holds the blankets open for him to slip beneath and get settled, all the way on the far edge of the bed. Piers sighs and draws his lanky limbs close until he's curled on his side, back to Guzma. Hair to Guzma, really. Guy was right, he really doesn't take up much space like this.

"G'night, Guzma."

"Night." He drops the blankets and settles on his back, hands tucked behind his head.

The exchange was so casual that the implications don't catch up to him until a minute later.

Piers didn't try anything.

Relief clashes and mixes with embarrassment over being such a paranoid bitch again, overwhelming and replacing his worries, but rather than confront his messy feelings, he forces his eyes to close. It's bedtime. He was in the middle of a nap earlier and is still kinda tired, especially emotionally, so passing back out should be no problem at—

"My hair in the way 't all?" Or not. "It gets everywhere, sorry. And er, if you need more space I can move."

Move where? Guy's already on the very edge. Piers' hair isn't gonna bother him any. He's used to having Plume's hair all up in his face. In fact, he wouldn't mind at all if he got a faceful of Piers', just to see how soft it is. Probably smells nice too.

"You're good, dude. Don't worry."

"If you're sure."

Yes he's sure. How many times does he have to say that Piers is fine?

The bed creaks as Guzma shifts around to get more comfortable. "I'm sure. Hell, I'm the one ya gotta worry about. If I try ta steal the covers, or spread too far out, just, like, push me away or gimme a kick or somethin'. I'll try ta be good so you can get yer beauty sleep."

 _Not like he needs it_ , he muses. _He's already real handsome._

He knows he's lucky to have such a hottie in his bed, even if they're not doing anything exciting. Piers doesn't seem interested in casual sex judging by how they're already in bed together, but in a totally innocent way, which is... good. It's good. But now he can't help but wonder beyond that.

Maybe Piers is the type to only fuck people he's dating.

Hah. Imagine that. Him, going on a date with Piers. Not even to try getting laid, but an actual, honest, romantic date. Holding hands, being sweet, kissing just because you like each other... Could be nice...

_Enough. What's wrong with you? What do you even want from him? Friendship? Sex? Somethin' else? Make up your damn mind._

A melodic hum draws him out of his confusing thoughts. "Will do. Regardless of if I'll lose or not I'll fight for my covers. I get cold easy."

Gets cold, huh...

He might have no chance with scoring dates or romance, and sex might still be... he doesn't know what he wants sexually, it's confusing as hell, but he can still hunt for crumbs. Stuff that falls outside the confusing shit, and inside the bounds of stuff you can do with friends.

Not that Piers is really his friend yet. It's still a mystery what Piers wants from him.

"Ya know, if ya get cold, you can... cuddle up ta me." Cuddling's not sexual. They can cuddle up and be alright, he's been starved for that kind of touch ever since Plumeria left and took all opportunities for friendly skinship with her. He can pretend he was just messing around if Piers takes it badly. "I'm a human furnace, y'know?"

Piers takes so long to answer that he's starting to hope the guy might actually be considering it. It's been forever since he snuggled up with anyone. Plumes has been away for so long...

A low chuckle banishes his nostalgia. "Only if you don't grope me in my sleep."

 _Yes!_ Oh, he can't wait to put his arms around that sweet sweet waist. "No promises, sweets."

"Oh? Thought you wanted to get some shut-eye." Piers twists and smirks over his shoulder. "I don't mind stayin' up a little longer." The singer's lidded eyes flick a horizontal once-over on him and all hope shrivels up and dies.

Shit, shit, _shit._ Piers looks like he'd actually enjoy getting groped. That did not go the way he wanted it to. Isn't it his own fault for saying what he did? How hard would it have been to just say 'I promise not to grope you, now get over here?'

_The fuck is wrong with you?_

Piers is staring with a worried expression he doesn't wanna look at. "Guzma? You alright?"

He doesn't want to answer that. How the fuck is he supposed to, anyways? He could lie and say he's okay, but he's starting to get a sick headache from all these confusing emotions duking it out in his head.

Why is it so fucking hard to have a normal conversation. He could explain himself, but what if the shit that comes out of his mouth makes it worse? What if it sounds stupid? Or makes Piers pack up and leave?

Instead of digging his own grave with every verbal fuck-up, he should just... he should just shut up and sleep. He doesn't trust his mouth anymore.

The bed creaks as he rolls onto his back with his arms behind his head, praying that not another word comes out of either of them.

Piers rolls onto his back as well. Only a minute passes before the silence is broken again.

"Hey... If I said somethin' wrong, I wanna know. If you were jokin' about cuddlin', I'm sorry for takin' it too far."

No, he wasn't joking, that's the thing.

Unable to admit that much, he doesn't respond, doesn't move, doesn't give any indication that he heard a word. When the unease in his gut gets too strong he glances through the corner of his eye, through the little triangle gap of his folded arm, and spies the 'sorry' written all over Piers' face. Like the guy's actually worried about his wellbeing or something.

This won't go anywhere with silence. Guzma closes his eyes and exhales. Alright. He's gotta do this. Rip the band-aid off.

He sits up without warning, brings his legs towards his chest and wraps his arms around his knees. Talks into them, like they'll protect his words. "...Listen. We've been pussyfootin' around this all night. Do ya wanna sleep with me or not? I need a straight answer from ya."

"What...? If I didn't wanna sleep here I'd have already left." That matter-of-fact tone is not helping right now, nor is that misunderstanding. "'M already in your bed, mate."

"That's not what I meant! I mean—" His arms tighten. Moment of truth. He can only pray it doesn't hurt too much. "Are you wantin' ta fuck me for real or what?"

Piers suddenly pushes upright, hands pressed into the mattress like he's a second away from leaping off the bed and fleeing the room. "Are you sayin' _you've_ been tryna get inta _my_ pants for real?"

The shock on Piers' face is both baffling—how can he be oblivious to this shit?—and offensive, because _how the fuck can he be oblivious to this shit!_

"What? No! I was—Wait. Wait just for one fuckin' second."

He runs his hands down his face, clearing his mind and gathering his swirling thoughts into one place. "I've been jokin' this whole time, but I thought _you_ wanted ta. I jus' need ta know if that's what yer intentions are. Thought ya were jus'... chasin' me for a good fuck or somethin'."

A void opens up in Piers' chest at the reveal. All evening, Guzma thought he only wanted to get laid...?

And yet Guzma still invited him into his house. Flirted with him. Flaunted and strut his stuff on that stupid throne, looked his body over when he changed clothes, liked what he saw! None of those looks or expressions went over Piers' head, he knows Guzma doesn't find him unattractive.

So why is Guzma so uncomfortable right now...?

_Good to know he really was joking, but what the fuck, this makes no sense._

Piers forces himself to relax, prying his hands from the mattress and resting them in his lap.

"So... Hang on. I thought you might've been serious at the start, but I picked up pretty fast that you were jokin'. I was just... playin' along. Thought we were havin' a bit o' fun."

Just friendly, casual fun.

He jolts when Guzma curses and hits the covers at his side. "Goddammit. How could I be so stupid?" The boss raises both his hands and grips at his hair, pulls and tugs it like it's the source of all his problems. "Course ya were jus' playin' along. Who wouldn't."

Piers shifts his weight, eyes on the white tangled tight in Guzma's fingers. "I ain't followin'. Would you rather I was serious?"

"No! I dunno!" A grimace twists Guzma's face as he releases his hair, which stays stuck up in chaotic directions. "I mean, yer hot 'n all, but... rrgh!"

"But what?" he snaps. "Out with it, I can't read your bloody mind!"

With the patience of a saint, he waits a whole bleedin' minute, quiet and tense and still, before Guzma finally gives him something substantial.

"The last time I was... Look, I just can't do flings. Dunno if I'm ready for anythin' like that yet."

_Flings!?_

Before he can stop it, an ugly sound claws its way out of his throat. "Well good for you, I'm not interested in 'anything like that.' How shallow do you think I—"

Stop right there. Shouldn't even ask. Guzma's seen him blush, heard him flirt back, tease back, the whole shebang, right back. Any spectator would think he was aiming to get laid tonight. That bit is completely his fault. So much for socially-ept.

He growls at himself and wrenches his legs into crossing so he can sit more comfortably, facing the other man straight on and slouching over to appear smaller and less confrontational.

"I'm not here for sex, that's all you need to know. What I wanna know is, if you weren't wantin' a fling, and thought I did, why the hell did you keep up the flirtin'?"

"I dunno, man!" Guzma throws a hand into the air. "It was just for fun, but then I got nervous that ya actually wanted it. That ya only wanted ta get ta know me _for_ sex. 'S what my ex did, and I thought it was happenin' again." He sounds exhausted. "I couldn't stop the flirtin' since it's just habit ta be like that. I dunno. Fuck..."

And there's the complete picture. Now everything makes too much sense. Guzma, used by an ex. Approached by someone he thought wanted to know him, love him, but finding out they were only there for his body... Once bitten, twice shy.

Piers can always understand shy. Especially this brand of it. Guzma's insecurities harmonize a little too well with some of his own. In his case, he got over it, thanks to patience and proved trustworthiness from the other party. Now it's his turn to be that person for Guzma.

He licks his lips and hunches further over his crossed legs. Got to choose his words carefully...

"The play flirtin' was fun, yeah. But you didn' know I was just jokin' back, so you got worried, because a stranger bein' flirty reminded you too much of a disaster that happened in the past," he recaps towards his lap. "I get that right?"

Guzma's limbs loosen a fraction. "Tch. Yeah. Nail on the head..."

He can work with this. Has to work with it. He's in too deep, there's no way he's losing Guzma now, especially not over a silly miscommunication like this. First time in his life he's taking such an initiative, he can't let it fail here.

He fidgets with his own hands while he preps his words, eyes randomly fixed on Guzma's glowering brow.

"Well... Here's me sayin' I didn't come here for the other kind of hammerin'. I only came here wantin' to hang out, and... get to you know a bit more." He tugs and twists his own fingers, face warm. "Returnin' your jacket was an excuse to visit," he lamely tacks on.

Guzma tightens his hug around his knees and makes an exasperated sound that has Piers wincing, expecting to be told off for his stupidity.

"That's the thing though, why would anyone wanna get ta know _me_ of all people. Everyone hates me. Got no reason ta get close. Thought you musta been after somethin'."

What...? Did he forget the entire morning? How they got along? Piers swallows and forces himself to sit up straighter instead of continuing his hunched trajectory into a stressed out ball.

"Why would I not wanna know you more? You helped me when I needed it most. And I like how you are with your family, and I have a lot o' fun talkin' with you." The compliments sit weirdly in his mouth. He's not used to throwing such praise around to anyone who isn't his team or his family. "I think you're funny and interestin', Guzma."

"But I—"

He runs right over whatever denial is coming. "You're an arse sometimes but so am I. I don't hate you."

"Whaddaya _want_ , though?"

Ugh, he's not getting it! Isn't it obvious what he wants?

"I wanna be your friend!" he blurts. The bold intentions hang there between them. He's got Guzma cornered now, but there's nowhere for himself to run either. "Don't make it so hard," he weakly growls, and retreats into pulling at his choker.

How the hell did Raihan do this for so long? Piers is regretting all the evasive dodgy bullshit he put the man through now that he's on the other side of it. This shit is agonizing.

"Friends...?" No one _sane_ would ever want to be his friend. "Are ya crazy or somethin'?"

Piers is blunt. "Yeah. Mental if I have t'be."

He needs to hear it again.

"Y-Ya really wanna be my...? Forreal?" He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, concentrating on the feel of short hair against his skin and not the fluttering in his gut. Piers seems pretty determined, and nods short and quick, choker clinking in his hand.

Guess he doesn't really have a choice in the matter. That's his excuse. Guzma heaves a sigh and unwraps his arms from his legs, sitting back in a more relaxed position.

"Yeah, a'ight. We're friends then."

His wish from before, that he whispered to Gol before taking his nap, just might be coming true. Somehow that isn't comforting or exciting like he might have expected. It's... 'weird' is the best way he can describe it.

Piers slowly unfurls like a fern waking up, and leans back on stiff arms. He tosses his head to shift his bangs and narrows his eyes. And stares. Is he not happy?

"What?" Guzma prods, and fidgets where he sits. He thought Piers would be satisfied that he said yes, not... whatever he is right now.

"Ye don't sound too keen on it. I only wanna do this if you're actually interested. Don't say yes just to get me off your back."

"I'm not! Damn." Piers is making this too complicated. Can't they just say they're friends and be done with it? The longer this goes on the more his anxiety is gonna make him regret everything. "We're friends, I mean it."

Piers' eyes narrow into skeptical slits. "So if I were to go around the city tellin' everyone you're my mate, you'd be okay with that."

No matter how far he leans away, he's unable to avoid the effects of that glare. "Uh. Maybe don't go doin' _that._ "

Piers rubs his eyes like he's got a migraine. "See, so you do have problems with it. I can't call us friends if either of us have problems with it." His bony hand drops into his lap. "Just tell me what it is. It ain't... anythin' about me, is it?"

What! Other than the flirting, which turned out to not be real flirting at all, Piers has been nothing but cool! It's just too naive to only consider one or even both of them. If they kept their friendship private, that would be one thing, but telling people? Hell no!

A frustrated growl burns in his chest. "No! It's about other people, get it? They'll treat ya different if they find out yer friends with me."

"I—Thanks for the concern? You have to understand that I don't give a shit what other people think or say about me." Piers sits forward, arms crossed, knee bobbing. "I mean, obviously I care about what _you're_ thinkin' and sayin' right now. Even if I think some of it's bobbins."

_B-Bobbins?_

"Well, uh, I do wanna be friends. I mean it, forreal." He has to look away when a tiny hopeful smile flickers to life. "I had fun showin' ya around earlier. Even if it was for a shit reason. We ah, had some fun today, yea? I liked it at least."

" I liked it too. We can do it more. What's stoppin' us?"

Uh, _a lot?_ Piers doesn't get it, that everyone will treat him like shit if they keep seeing him around Team Skull's hated boss. His infamous reputation used to be a point of pride, but now that he's got someone he wants to shield from it, it's nothing but a ball and chain.

"It's not that simple, man. I'd feel like shit if anyone starts sayin' shit about you for hangin' out with me. Don't want ta tarnish yer record." 

Unsavory rumors would start, that the rockstar is tangled up in the wrong crowd, or mixed up in illegal business. Which is bullshit, because Team Skull ain't about that anymore, they've changed, but none of their work has sunk in yet. They have to keep working a lot harder before they can do shit like pick up new friends without worry.

"My record?" A loud scoff startles him. "Only records I give a shit about are the ones with music on 'em."

Agh, he doesn't get it!

"Ta people here, they matter a lot! I dunno how things go in Galar, but here in Alola, once you fuck up, yer basically done for. Communities here are tight-knit. Everybody knows everybody, and word gets around fast. And I don't wanna risk that happenin' to ya. Ya got a show ya need ta succeed, right?"

No immediate answer. They just stare at each other, Guzma exasperated to hell and Piers still with that analytical look on his face. The silence between them is the loudest thing in the room.

Maybe the rockstar finally gets it. That there's a lot at stake here for him. Shit he can't risk for Guzma's sake of all worthless people's.

"It wouldn't bother me, you know." The edges around Piers' voice and expression soften. "To be seen with you."

No. He shouldn't say that. He can't gamble with his success like this, Guzma would feel like absolute shit if he was the reason behind the singer failing in Alola.

"It should," he rasps.

"No, no, I mean... Obviously, I want my show to go well. And I want to be friends with you too. What I mean is, if people don't wanna see my show just because we're acquainted, then I don't want them there 't all."

That can't be right. The singer needs all the support and fans he can get if he wants to be more famous...

In the space of his silence, Piers continues, quiet and sincere. The only sign of tension he gives away is how tightly he's clutching at that spiked ring.

"I'm used to people thinkin' what they want about me. Even if it's nasty or wrong, or even if it's right. I'm used to it. And I'm not gonna... not do what I want, just 'cause others might see. Screw them if they wanna talk shit, yeah?" A black-painted nail taps against metal. "Remember earlier today? If I wanna wear your jacket, I'll wear it. And if I wanna keep seein' you, then I'll keep seein' you. Even if it's where other people can see us."

Guzma's acutely aware of his face heating up and his heart hammering away in his chest. That soft ramble did something weird to him.

This has never happened before. Someone unaffiliated with his gang wanting to be around him unconditionally. No underhanded motivations, no trying to change anything about him, no authority or power imbalances either. Piers wants him as-is, and wants to hang out with him on equal footing regardless of everything.

He should be happy. He's always wanted something like this, but for some reason he can't explain, his chest is all tight and he can't shake the feeling something bad's gonna happen. Like Piers will say 'just kidding' or something equally nasty. Piers wouldn't do that, right? This whole conversation's been nothing but candid.

It's hard to wrap his head and heart around all this, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want it. He might not be totally ready to accept all this as real and okay, but... he's not gonna say _no,_ at least. He's gonna take this chance.

He drops his gaze to the rumpled blankets between them and mutters. "Yer gonna regret this..."

"Don't care." Piers shrugs. "If I don't regret it in the moment, 's worth somethin'."

Bold fucking words. Piers really is crazy.

"So... friends?" The offer comes once more, the upturn of Piers' voice calling him to look up as well.

His heart clenches in his chest at the hopeful spark in those sea-green eyes.

"Yeah." He pushes past the roughness in his voice. "Friends."

He really just did that. Agreed to be aikāne with someone who actually wants to be around him. There's some heavy sense of significance hanging over him that he can't shake. This is all so weird. And crazy. They're both fucking crazy.

It's happening. He did it.

He's made a friend by himself, without any external intervention or hand-holding or third parties acting as social lubrication. It was all him. His own initiative and his own desire and work. No one's taking this away from him.

He was a little surprised when Guzma wanted to keep their friendship private. It's not something Piers is unused to; his relationship with Raihan is kept under wraps to this day. But the difference here is that their best-friendship is kept private for Raihan's sake—for valid reasons that Piers is perfectly fine with—while Guzma wanted to hide things for _his_ sake. Big difference.

No offense to Rai, but Piers won't lie to himself and say that he isn't excited to have a friendship he can enjoy out in the open.

Now to just ride this wave of elation and take care of one more thing before he loses his stones and can't do it anymore.

"I think there's one more thing we need to talk about." Then they'll be square. Then they can move forward with confidence and get on with their little sleepover.

"Still? Man, what the hell is it?" Guzma groans and flops onto his back. Piers stays sitting, eyes tracing the other's handsome profile.

"Buck up, it's important. We're on a streak here."

"Tch. Fine. Whaddaya got." Guzma pouts at the ceiling, strong nose scrunching in an endearing way.

There's really no subtle way to word this.

"I do think you're really hot, mate." Guzma's head whips to face him. He powers through. "But I promise I won't let it get in the way o' this. Swear down, I wanna get to know you over anythin' else."

"Yer... what? Fuckin' _why?_ "

He almost wants to laugh at the incredulity on Guzma's face. What is there to be confused about? Damn, and here he thought this was gonna be easy.

"Why what?"

"Why're ya attracted ta me? Of all people? I don't get it." For all the confidence the boss was projecting about his looks earlier, he sounds flustered. There's no way all that _ya boy's hot_ shite was fake. Then again, in hindsight, it might have just been Guzma trying to probe for his intentions.

"You're my type, okay? Look, I'm just layin' it out so we can move on. I made you uncomfortable earlier with the flirtin', I don't wanna muck anythin' up with you. I'm attracted to you but it won't cloud my judgement. I'm not ever gonna chase you for sex like your ex did. Promise."

"I... shiiit." Guzma groans and rubs a hand down his face. "Okay. I uh. Appreciate it. But uh... fuck," he swears under his breath. "Yer my type, too."

Now it's his turn to say something stupid. "What."

Heat crawls up his face. He would think he misheard that, but he knows his ears work better than most people's.

"Fuck, this is weird. I'm attracted to ya, too. A lot, actually." The flush garnishing the gangster's mug is all the credibility needed for it to sink in.

'Weird' is an understatement. He wants to ask why, just like Guzma did, but he can't bring himself to try. Knowing why would be irrelevant if all they're going to do with this information is sit on it. Not like Guzma wants sex. He doesn't either, so... end of story, right?

Piers pushes out a mumble at best, cheeks shamefully burning. "Good t'know, I guess. But we're not gonna do anythin' about it though, are we? You wanted no sex."

Guzma ruffles his hair, checking out the ceiling with intense concentration. "Y-Yeah, no. 'Course not. Wouldn't be right with ya leavin' in a week anyways."

Now that is an odd comment.

The gangster's almost talking like sex would lead to something deeper. Which... would make sense, given how he views it, given what occurred with his ex. Guzma must lend a lot of importance to the act, Piers can respect that. Saying anything like 'no, we can go at it no strings attached if you ever wanted' probably wouldn't help this move forward.

Guzma still brought up a good point. Piers will be out of Alola after a week.

"You're right... But hey, uhm." He fiddles with his choker. "I know I'm askin' this at the wrong time, but... ya don't mind makin' friends even though I'll be gone in a week, do you? Is that alright? If you see it as too much trouble, then..." _Then we don't have to do this._

The words don't come out. Piers swallows them down.

He was so shortsighted. So hyped up on the idea of doing the chasing for once that he forgot all about having to say goodbye so soon. Maybe they shouldn't keep this up. It's too much trouble for the other man to bother with him, and... no, what's he gonna do, back out on this chance at making a good, honest connection? That would be the coward's route, and he's done being a coward. Even if they fall out of touch, if this connection brings good into his life while it lasted then it's worth the trouble.

It depends on Guzma seeing it as worth the trouble too.

The bed creaks under a heavy body. "I'm sure we can figure somethin' out. I still wanna do this. We'll see what happens when the time comes."

Yeah... they will figure something out. That's exactly what he needed to hear. Piers blows out a thorough sigh to clear his lungs and clear his mind, and stares at his new friend with fresh resolve.

"We will. As long as you wanna keep at it, it'll keep goin'. I know it's weird to have someone walk up demandin' to be friends, but—"

"It's not weird. I actually like that about ya." Guzma's still not looking at him, and the dim lighting makes it hard to make out, but the gangster's face looks a tad... embarrassed. No, it must be the light.

"Oh." He averts his eyes, and furrows his brows to make up for it. That tripped him up. "It's not my usual style. You're, er... the first one I felt compelled to do this shite with. So, yeah." He tosses his head. "Feel special over it."

Guzma does feel special. That little burst of aggressive confidence Piers displayed was all for him. A smile sneaks its way onto his face as a warmth spreads through his chest. "I do. Glad ta know I can stir up such confidence in ya."

In the corner of his eye, Piers hunches over his lap again, bangs slipping to obscure his face, and his hands start pulling at themselves. "Yeah..." Piers tears his hands apart and looks up, prompting Guzma to focus hard on the lamp-yellowed ceiling again. "You do. Which is why I wanna get to know you. Which is why we're not gonna let somethin' dumb like havin' the hots fer each other get in our way. You with me here?"

Disappointment clamps around his chest and makes it hard to breathe for a second. He doesn't know why. It's not like they were ever going to get together. They're just friends. Friends with no benefits, no nothing. Why does that hurt? He was the one uncomfortable about the prospect of sex.

No, he was just uncomfortable with the idea of Piers _only_ wanting sex. Now that he knows that's not the case... would it really be so bad?

What would be bad is fucking up his shot at this by suddenly trying to rewrite their terms. It's over, set in stone. Forget about it.

He swallows, and busies himself with getting back under the covers.

"Yeah. I'm with ya. Don't wanna do somethin' stupid like start datin' or fuckin' or anything."

The laugh that leaves his new friend makes him queasy more than anything. "Glad to know we're on the same page. I'm feelin' a lot better about all this. Thanks." With a flash of a smile, Piers slips under the covers as well.

That 'thanks' sends guilt swirling around his stomach. Piers looks so happy now, he hates that he's lying to his first new friend in fucking years. He needs to put all those stupid feelings behind him so he can focus on having a good time. He just made a new friend, after all. Gotta enjoy it while it lasts.

A low, melodic voice breaks him from his thoughts.

"You know, I'm not that tired. Wanna make this a proper sleepover and chat into the night? Get to know each other a bit?" The hopeful tint to his voice is too much. Can't say no to that.

"Sure. Whatcha wanna hear?" Casual chatting in bed. Crazy concept. Only other person he's done it with was Plumeria, and with her gone it's definitely something he's needed. Maybe it'll help put his mind at ease and forget about any depressing shit.

"Hm... Favorite color." Piers closes his eyes and nestles into the pillow. He's still got a smile on his face.

"Purple. 'S a nice color," he easily responds, taking in the other's content expression. Real handsome.

"It is nice." Piers cracks an eye open with a tight-lipped smirk and Guzma averts his eyes. "Not gonna ask me mine? Must be borin' you to tears already."

Fuck, he's out of practice. "Oh, uh, sorry. What's yers?" He pulls the blankets up higher.

"Mine's magenta. Not just any pink, it's got to be magenta. Can't go wrong with black or white either."

Those other favorite colors aren't surprising when they're growing out of Piers' head. Those roots are too perfect to be artificially colored.

As if on cue, a lock of black falls in front of Piers' face, and Guzma frowns. Before he can stop himself, he reaches across the distance and brushes the curl out of the way, helping it rest with the rest of Piers' bangs.

Piers' heart kicks into overdrive before he realizes what triggered it. His eyes fly wide and all he catches is Guzma's arm retracting back under the covers.

"'S why I could never deal with long hair," Guzma says, casual as can be. "That and the Alolan sun. I dunno how ya put up with it. Must suck washing it."

"Yeah... It's an effort 'n a half. Takes bloody ages to dry..." His chuckle is strained. "Alolan sun's good for somethin' other'n scorchin' my pale arse, at least."

His cheekbone is still warm where Guzma touched it. He wants another, but he can't just _ask_ for one. He might be desperate for a little intimacy, but he shouldn't hunt for it from Guzma when they've only barely graduated from mere acquaintanceship. The best thing to do is forget about it and move on.

"Well whatever ya do with it, it looks good." Guzma's compliment brings him more at ease. "Always liked lookin' at long hair."

"Yours looks good too, mate." Fluffy and soft-looking. Touchable. Piers tucks his bangs behind his ear so they don't slip again. "You've got a whole aesthetic goin', I really dig it. Love the skulls."

"Ya like skulls, do ya? Fun fact, I used ta have these shitty fake skull tattoos. They were right here on my arms." Guzma pulls said limbs out of the blankets and taps at his muscular forearms. "I _was_ savin' up for real ones. But then all that shit happened and I took 'em off. They were my gang's symbols after all, couldn't exactly walk around with 'em anymore."

Another vague mention of the 'shit that happened' does not go amiss. He wants to ask, since by now he's heard the same ominous shite a half dozen different ways, and the man allegedly behind it all is right in front of his face. However. He doesn't dare jeopardize the mood.

"Don't blame you..."

Guzma's arm falls back down and rests on the pillow in front of his face. Now they're in mirrored positions. Tan fingers drum on the pillowcase and the repetitive noise draws Piers' attention. He's never gotten a good look at Guzma's hands before... Knuckles are broad. Nails bitten short. Guzma's got very strong-looking hands, he can see the calluses from here, and they _are_ strong. Piers knows it after being pulled up and around by them all morning. They can be gentle, too, as evidenced by that damn caress that he's completely failing to forget about. His cheek is tingling again.

"What about _you?"_ The hand moves before he can react, and pokes the center of his skinny chest to emphasize the question.

"Huh?" The finger is still there. He fights not to blush at the sudden new contact.

"Got any tats?" Guzma rephrases, looking at him like he said something silly.

"Oh—No. But you're not the first to think I look the type," he recovers. Satisfied with the answer, Guzma pulls his arm back to himself and Piers relaxes along with it.

"Ya do look like ya'd have some serious ink. Bein' a rockstar and all."

"Sorry for not upholdin' the image. I've got stuff pierced at least. Don't keep 'em in while travelin', though." Piers turns his head and brushes his hair back to show Guzma his currently-blank ear. "Got a few here..." Guzma's gaze traces the side of his face, and Piers' heart rate responds to the near-tangible attention. He relaxes his neck to look at the other normally and taps his finger on his brow, then on his lower lip in two spots. "Here 'n here too."

Guzma squints and scoots closer. Far closer than expected. "Oh yeah. I can see the little holes."

He clears his throat. "Got some others not on me 'ead. But I'd have to start showin' skin to show exactly where those are." The barest touch of nervousness—or is it anticipation?—tickles him from the inside.

"Are they dick piercings?" Piers' mouth falls open in near-offense. "Aw, come on, don't gimme that look. I'll show ya mine if you show me yours."

"Are you kiddin' me?" He scoffs, but can't stop a smile from creeping onto his face.

"Nope. Drop those pants, we can make it quick." Guzma's tongue pokes between his teeth and he winks again, and this time they both know that it's all just for fun. Straightforward, immature fun.

His heart creeps back into high tempo. This is almost too enjoyable, he hardly knows how to handle it. Is it possible to get fucking anxiety from the rush of things going too well? If so, then—then fuck it, he's all in.

"No, I don't have my dick pierced! Do _you?_ If so then don't show me," he hastily adds. He would not be able to handle Guzma's pants coming off. He wants to keep things friendly with his handsome new friend, not that there's anything inherently sexual about looking at another guy's dick. Who's he kidding, it's too risky.

"Nah, it's not on my dick." Guzma laughs as he sits up once again. "Here, look. I'll go first for ya." He sits there, not doing anything, a smirk playing on his lips.

Piers pushes himself up on stiff arms and looks the man over. Nothing visible. "Where is it?"

His answer comes in the form of a stuck-out tongue. Unlike the other times, which were just peeks and slips, Guzma's got his mouth open all the way, tongue pointing straight down towards his chin. A silver ball sits right in the middle, exposed like a pristine pearl. Fuck, how did he never notice something like that before? He'd love a closer inspection.

He doesn't get to, because Guzma hides it away again. "A'ight, one down." The boss straightens up and peels off his tank top. It nearly gives Piers cardiac arrest to see that stomach exposed, chest exposed—but before he gets to stare too much and give his heart reason to fail, Guzma climbs off the bed and turns his back, ink on full display.

Oh, finally, he can see what it is! The bed creaks as he scrambles to the edge to get a closer look.

Covering the entirety of the gangster's broad back, glaring and sharp, is a tribal-looking tattoo of a Golisopod. The lines are solid and stark and black as night against Guzma's tan skin, and the style is striking and fierce. The Pokémon looks a second away from leaping off the skin, ready to battle.

"Whaddaya think?" Guzma rests his hands on his hips and stands with pride, as he should.

"Shit man, that's cool," he breathes. "That's your Golisopod, innit? Same one I saw today?" The bed creaks as he leans closer, marveling at every bold stroke.

"Yup, that's my boy." The proud trainer doesn't turn around or make any motion to put his shirt back on. "He means a lot ta me. Had him since I was little."

"That's insane, bruv. Looks incredible. How long did it take to get done?" As his eyes rove over the inked design, imperfections in the linework lift to attention. It might just be an illusion due to Guzma's musculature. Hard to tell in the low light. Piers pushes his legs off the bed so he can sit perched on the very edge.

"Days. Had ta keep goin' down ta the shop fer hours at a time for it ta finally get done." Guzma ruffles his own hair and returns his hand to his hip. There's no telling how long he'll keep standing there; scrutiny will have to be quick.

He was right, there are imperfections, but not in the ink. They're on the skin. Hidden well by the tattoo, they're a notably different texture, a disparity only noticeable this close up. They're of varying lengths, and varying angles. Pencil-thick, straight, and short...

Piers sits tenser on the edge of the bed, suddenly restless. They can't be scars, just how many are there? There have to be more lying hidden, blocked by black, and whether or not the ink's coverage was strategic or coincidental, he can't infer.

To buy more time, he starts a subject on a tangent.

"If I were to get any ink, it'd be somethin' of my Obstagoon." His forced-casual musings drift across the shrinking space between them. "Had him since I was little, too. My starter."

"Obstagoon... that's that Galarian Zigzagoon, right?" Guzma asks, casual as can be. Unaware that Piers is looking at everything but the tattoo at this point. "Only one I haven't seen yet."

"Yeah. Galar's where they came from originally. Fierce little buggers..." A particularly prominent mark lies shielded beneath the Golisopod's hulking arms.

"You should definitely get that done. That'd look pretty fuckin' cool."

A distracting statement.

"Cool... You really think so?" He'd look more like a legit rockstar if he did. He's got most of the aesthetic down. Long hair. Piercings. An air of perpetual unhealthiness born from both his pallor and a body fit for scaring Rookidees out of fields. A tattoo would be the cherry on top of his aesthetic sundae.

"I know so. It'd be great on ya. Gotta warn ya though, it hurts. I can be there ta hold yer hand if ya need it." The offer skirts over his awareness, unimportant in light of a much stronger keyword.

"Hurt you, did it..." There's a mark near Guzma's lower spine that isn't totally covered. It peeks out between two black lines, strokes thick like iron cage bars. Not to keep something in, but to keep everything else out, perhaps. He leans even closer, breath puffing over the defensive ink. "How much did it hurt...?"

The Golisopod shivers under his warm breath.

"I won't lie. Kind of a lot." Guzma shrugs. "Not the worst I've been through, though."

Ah, and the evidence is right here, isn't it.

A pale hand lifts. Hesitates. Piers glances up. Focuses back down. Holds his breath, and brushes his cold fingertips across the ridge of the mark. The turn of unease in his stomach confirms undeniably that it is scar skin.

The Golisopod— _Guzma_ shudders at his touch and he curls his hand away.

"Sorry..."

He didn't cross a line, did he?

Piers' fingertip touch was freezing and rough. He remembers feeling those weird calluses earlier today.

"Not a problem. Yer hands are a little cold, that's all. Like icicles," he jokes. He's hoping Piers runs with the joke instead of continuing in the direction he's headed.

There's no way Piers didn't notice the scars. The guy felt real close, and the places he was touching... well, Guzma knows those spots very well. Maybe he won't be curious enough to—

"Hey..." The hesitant voice has the exact same tone that his kids use when they wanna ask him something they're scared he won't like.

Here it comes.

"Sup."

A cold touch trickles down his back, same spot as before. "What are these... marks?"

His brow creases in a frown. Yup. Called it. Even if he was hoping the topic wouldn't come up, lying about any of it wouldn't be good. Piers can literally see the damage right in front of him, no point in sugar coating how it got there. Besides, they're friends now. He shouldn't hide shit from his new friend.

"Already said the tat wasn't the worst shit i've been through. And 'member when I said kids here don't come from good homes?" He bends down and picks up his shirt, slipping it on to cover up the cover-up. The mattress complains when he plops himself down with a heavy sigh.

"Couldn't forget it..." At his side, Piers hunches. "You don't have to explain further than that. Don't mean to pry."

Kinda late now.

"Nah, 's fine. Was the same fer me, that's all. Had a shit home." He leans backwards until he falls, hands folding behind his head to act as a pillow. A cheap way to gain some distance without really moving away. "I'll spare ya the grisly details. I'm sure ya don't wanna hear about it."

He can sense the worry from here. It doesn't sit well with him. "I didn't stay forever. Ran away and started Team Skull when I got old enough," he clarifies, and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see any new reactions.

Closed eyes don't stop him from feeling new actions, though. The mattress dips and the creaks come closer as the singer scoots his way up to sit next to where Guzma's head is. He doesn't open his eyes to check how close because a low voice does the triangulating for him.

"I don't mind hearin'. I had a messed-up home too. So I get it."

His eyes ease open. Piers sits cross-legged within arm's reach, bony fingers tangled together, pulling at each other, squeezing and scraping nails on skin. They're painted black, chipped to hell, and leave pink trails where they scratch over pale skin.

So. They just keep having more and more in common. What a shitty thing to be able to relate to. Was it the same thing? Yelling, hitting, getting locked out of the house? Nights spent on the porch? Anger simmers at the very idea of a kind guy like Piers getting shoved around by family. Should he ask?

Piers answers the unsaid question. "You don't need any grisly details from me either, but..." Those fingers lace and bind into each other and hold totally still. "I don't mind hearin' yours. If you wanna talk, I'll listen."

No fucking thank you. Bitter memories are already pushing their way to the surface. Guzma doesn't want to remember, doesn't want to share. He doesn't need this shit right now. Takes a lot to not snap, and keep cool instead. If this were months ago he'd have tried to bite Piers' head off for being nosy.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh." Piers' fingers pry apart, and one hand lifts to comb through his long bangs. "Sorry, then. For bringin' it up."

"Yeah."

The silence between them calcifies.

Great. Way to make things awkward. Piers was extending empathy, something so rarely given to him, and he shut it down just like that. Last thing he wants is to make his friend feel bad about trying to reach out to his sorry ass. He's gotta fix this, and pull the mood back to something more fun.

"Maybe someday I'll share. Not now, though. How-ev-er..." His eyes drift up and follow the sway of hair through bony fingers. "I did say I'd show ya mine if ya'd show me yours. So now ya gotta show me yers."

Piers' hand halts mid-comb. "My other piercings? You're still curious even if they're not on my dick? Not that I'd show you if they were."

"Come on. If I had a dick piercing _I'd_ show ya. I'll have ya know I was actually thinkin' about it for a while, but the idea of someone stabbin' my cock with a needle wasn't my jam." Piers' lip twitches and betrays his humor, and Guzma grabs hold of it, rolls with it. "But they say it's great for your partner, so hey, maybe someday."

"I've heard that too. Alright, I'll uphold my end of it. Look here..." 

A thrill courses through his stomach. Forget about shitty childhoods, this is infinitely better.

Piers stares down his own chest and pulls at his borrowed shirt, scrolling it up beneath deft fingers until his abdomen is visible.

God, he's so skinny. That waist looks so grabbable. He needs a better look, thank god he has a valid reason to check it out up close. The skinny man hunches forward more and taps his pointer fingers just above the hem of borrowed sweatpants.

"Right here... They're symmetrical, on me hips. Kinda hard to see..."

On the contrary, Guzma can see them clear as day. A pair of holes at each hip, pinpricks in pale skin, slanted to follow the crests of his pelvis. Guzma leans closer, pretending he hasn't spotted them yet. _Damn,_ those hips...

_Wish I could see 'em actually pierced._

"Bet they look real good when they're in..."

Accents to that cruel downward slant. Eye-catching and attention-grabbing, not that Piers' body needs the help of jewelry to achieve either of those things.

"I'd like to think so. I don't wear 'em too much, but they're my favorite." Piers gives a modest smile from the edge of his focus. "They're mostly for concerts now."

Oh, fuck, that visual. Piers up on stage, glowing under the spotlight, skin lit up with surreal colors. Thin hips swaying right in front of him, piercings winking barely out of reach but begging to be touched, licked, kissed over. Shit. He's gotta stop. He's gotta look away.

His gaze flicks up and is trapped by a smile.

What the fuck.

It's beautiful.

Piers' little smile is lighting up the whole damn room, more than if all four lamps were on, and is as dangerous to look at as the sun. Guzma swallows and lets his eyes sink to stare at the safer option, the still-exposed midriff right in front of him. Thin and pale. Within easy grabbing distance. Missing their killer piercings.

"They must've, uh... hurt pretty bad, bein' in a sensitive place and all." He clears his throat of its sudden roughness. "Not that I'm sayin' you're sensitive there in particular."

"They hurt, yeah. And you are right, I am sensitive here." Piers shrugs like he didn't just drop the best thing he's heard all night. "If you wanna get some," _god I'd love to,_ "I'll be there to hold your hand if ya need it." He mimics Guzma's line from earlier and ah, fuck. Hand holding.

_God, I'm so bad at not thinking about this shit. He's too easy to fantasize about. Snap out of it!_

"O-Oh yeah? I might take ya up on that."

"Sounds like a plan." Piers drops the shirt and brings a hand to his throat to stroke at the ring resting there. "Just lemme know the time 'n place."

Fuuuck. So he'd really be okay with hand holding? As emotional support, at least. It's a good reason to hold someone's hand. He's done it lots of times to calm the less hug-inclined kids down, giving them something to grab onto and hold tight while they sort themselves out. Just so they know he's there. The big difference here, with Piers, is that Piers would be supporting him instead of the other way around. And that's not really... not really something that happens much.

"Sure thing..." He blinks and takes his eyes off Piers' clothed stomach.

Piers' fingertip skates circles around the metal pendant. It's something easy and safe to watch. "Better make it soon." His finger swirls faster, dips into the ring and lifts it slightly. "I'm only here for a week."

Only a week... That's not enough time to think about getting something like that. But the experience of doing something where Piers is there to hold his hand, is...

"Think you can make the decision to commit within only a week?" Piers tilts his head and his hand stills at his throat. Those icy eyes blink closed, and the flicker of long lashes makes him forget what he was about to say.

"I uh... I dunno. Maybe? I mean I can always leave 'em out if I change my mind." Second thoughts on a piercing would be the most innocent of all his fuck-ups.

"Hole might stay, though, if you dally on decidin'." Piers' tongue pokes against his inner lower lip, where his snakebite holes are. "Damage'll be done."

"Don't care about that. Made worse decisions in my life. But whatever, they might not even look good on me." They'd look amazing on Piers, though. Before the Galarian heads back home, he's gotta see them in.

Piers opens his eyes and slips back under the covers, head propped up on a bent arm to study him. "If it's any consolation, I think your tongue one looks great. An' I think if you got any others, you'd make them look great too." Before he can react to the compliments, Piers gestures at him. No, gestures at his mouth. "Ain't about whether or not you think it'll look good. 'S personal expression, you do it because it makes you happy, an' that's always beautiful, simple as that."

Beautiful...? No one's ever called anything about him _beautiful_ before. Everything he's done has always been some kind of mistake, and there's definitely parts of his body he'd change if he could. But Piers is saying that whatever he chose to do to it, it would be beautiful. Maybe he should consider it after all.

Wait, no, what's he thinking? Getting a hole put in him just to chase compliments. He's better than that. They're way too deep into this topic.

"Actually..." He licks his lips. The silver ball in his mouth taps against his teeth. "Forget the piercin' stuff."

"Made a decision already? That was fast." Piers smiles coyly and brushes at his bangs.

He averts his eyes. "Nah, nah. There's just... other shit we can do with our time. Since yer only here for a week."

Something flickers across Piers' face, too quick for him to catch what it is, and leaves neutrality in its wake. The singer leans a little closer. "Have somethin' in mind fer me?" he coaxes, low and eager.

That tone of voice knocks him internally askew.

"Uh, yeah! We can, uh..." There's no way he has _that_ in mind, right? Gotta ask. Communicate. "Wait, ya aren't expectin' to get laid, right?"

Piers blinks in surprise and leans back. "Oh, no, sorry! I meant normal hangin' out. Sorry, I'm just..." He goes pink. "Excited," he mumbles, embarrassed about it for some reason, and ohh, thank fuck. Just excited to hang out. That's relatable.

He sighs in relief. "Right, just makin' sure. Speakin' of plans, maybe I can show ya some cool spots to catch Pokémon here. I _would_ say I can take ya out to Malie Garden, or show ya around the other islands, but that's too public. People don't exactly like seein' me."

To mask any shadows trying to surface on his face, he busies himself with getting comfortable again. He lies flat on his back and stares at the blank ceiling, dim and yellow with stretched splotches of green from the bottles sitting on the shelf. From the corner of his eye he can see Piers rolling onto his side, back to him. Kinda far away, and for some reason, that bothers him.

"I like seein' you. We can do what you want, that's alright by me."

"..."

What he wants is for Piers to be closer and not with his back turned. Too embarrassed to say it straight away, it takes a while before he musters the willpower, and when he does, he phrases it like a demand instead of a request.

"...Come up here. It's weird talkin' ta ya when you're over there."

The sudden command catches Piers off guard. He pushes himself up, hair dragging along behind him, and looks over his shoulder. "What...? Up where?"

"Just up here! So I can see ya better." The boss turns his head away.

Why does Guma want to see him better when they're already so close? Wait. Up, as in, closer? As in...

 _Cuddling_ , his brain whispers. _Platonic cuddling._

No, dammit, that's absolutely not what he meant.

But. It certainly is an idea. One that rolls around his mind making itself at home.

It's been a month and a half since he's been able to cuddle with someone, which isn't that long compared to how many years he went before introduced to friendly snuggles as a concept (as in, his whole life), but after getting used to heavy platonic petting with Raihan, going even a month without makes him feel lacking.

Maybe Guzma's also touch-needy. It's possible. Guzma caressed his face so easily earlier, so maybe it's not outside the realm of possibility to get some casual touching in with Guzma sometime, but he's not counting on that happening tonight. He's only met this man today.

By the end of the week, maybe they can... No, no, that's silly to expect they'll get that far. It took a ridiculous amount of time before he let Raihan touch him on the shoulder without going all stiff, let alone strip down and crawl into his bed for a night of holding. Not that stripping has to factor in here! Damn, point is, it's unreasonable to expect that Guzma would be open to such a thing when they've known each other for literally less than twenty-four hours.

"If you want me over there, trade spots with me." Can't sleep without facing the door.

Guzma starts to scoot. The bed creaks in rhythm and the ridiculous noise draws a smile to his tired face.

Once close enough, he carefully clambers over.

"Fuck, sorry." He apologizes as his hair completely covers and drags over Guzma's face on his way across.

Guzma's _pretty_ sure some hair got into his mouth, but he's not focused on that right now. No, he's focused on Piers literally climbing over him. The big shirt hung low and gave him a prime view of those prominent collarbones, and the hair slipping over his face and neck is silky and soft and smells delicious. A thousand Butterfree stir up in his stomach. That all gave his brain plenty to work with. Lots of images and scenarios are playing in his mind right row that he shouldn't dwell on.

Piers lays himself down to complete the switch, and reaches behind his neck to hook and drag his hair out of the way, which has no right to be as erotic as it is. Guzma wants to bury his face and hands into that hair.

"Hope that didn' tickle too much," Piers mumbles as he lays on what used to be Guzma's pillow. Facing him. Good.

"Nah. It didn't, don't worry." But he kinda wishes it did.

Guzma settles onto his new pillow. Piers' head wasn't on it for long, but the scent still lingers, and he guiltily turns his head just enough to breathe it in. He's gotta come up with something new to talk about now that they're so close and staring at each other. Think, Guzma, think...

"Sooo... Singin's yer passion, right? Why'd ya become a Gym Leader then?"

Piers' pleasant expression fades away. Ah, fuck. Shoulda kept his mouth shut.

"Necessity. Tha's all."

He doesn't wanna push a subject that Piers isn't happy with, but fuck, he's so curious! And he's always been bad about resisting his own curiosity.

"How's that shit happen out of necessity?"

Piers sighs and rubs his head deeper into the pillow, and tugs the covers up over his bony shoulder.

"My town... she ain' exactly a hoppin' tourist spot. Used t'be a great lively place, but then..." Piers' brow furrows and his lip curls slightly. "I won't bother with the details. Things just started goin' downhill fer us."

Sounds like this is shit that needs to be aired. Must've been weighing on Piers' mind for a while. Guzma can be the ear he needs. Just gotta listen quietly and take in all this information to ease the burden off of his new friend's shoulders.

"What then?" he prompts.

"I took the Gym Leaderin' job 'cause havin' an active gym in town would stop things from gettin' worse. I did me best. To bring money back into town, y'know? An' t'keep any more from leavin'. But I could never do enough. The Spikemuth Gym fell behind the others and I couldn't make up fer it. Couldn't haul us back up to what we used to be. Too weak," Piers says. His eyes are lowered and aimless, not really looking at anything.

The ex-Gym Leader curls up harder under the covers. The blankets shift around Piers' neck. Must be messing with that damn choker _again._

"Could never make meself strong enough to get the right attention from the right people. Didn' have the right stuff. They never looked twice at me as a trainer, not tha' I blame _them_ for me own shortcomings. But a'least it gave me enough time t'see that my s—"

"Stop." He snipes and pinches Piers' lips together to cut his self depreciation in their tracks. Piers' eyes fly wide to meet his hard gaze, and blinks like he forgot Guzma was less than a foot away.

After a stern few seconds, he releases his hold on the other man's mouth. "Ya weren't a bad Gym Leader. I mighta never seen ya battle, but if ya sucked, ya'd never been made one in the first place."

"But... I was just the best we had at the time. I really wasn't that great. Maybe not _bad,_ but I was never good _enough,_ " Piers insists. "Proof's all around Spikemuth that I didn't do shite fer it. Was pretty useless in the end." He sounds so, so confident in his flaws, which is so messed up.

Alright. Time for him to pull his weight as Piers' aikāne.

"Ya can't sell yerself short like that, man. One a' these days I'll challenge ya to a battle myself. Then ya can show me how good ya really are."

He's sure Piers must be great trainer to be a Gym Leader. Alola doesn't do that Gym shit, but everybody knows that that position doesn't get handed around to just anybody. Someone must have noticed Piers had potential to take on that responsibility, especially if he held onto the title for a while, which is what it sounds like.

"I don't really battle anymore, are you sure?"

"Fuck yeah I'm sure. I wanna see if big bad Guzma can destroy a Gym Leader from another region. Ex-Gym Leader," he corrects, before he gets a glare.

"Ugh, fine... I'll accept a challenge and do me best." Piers slowly relaxes out of his tight-curled ball. "You'll get to see Obstagoon, too. He's a beast and would be happy to battle ya."

"Fuck yeah! Can't wait ta see him in action." A foreign Pokémon. He can't miss out on meeting one, and he especially can't miss out on battling one. Too bad Piers doesn't have any bugs on him, there's got to be loads of interesting ones native to Galar that he'd love to meet.

"I'll do my best to give you a fun battle. Should be easier here than at home."

Easier? Is he looking down on Alolans or something? They might not have Gyms or anything, but come on.

"Hell does that mean?" he bluntly asks.

"Fuck, sorry. I'd never want t' insinuate you're weak. I only meant that Galar's definition of a worthwhile battle is a bit different than other places I've seen."

He cocks his head and gives a confused stare, waiting for information that's reluctantly given.

"Spikemuth—my hometown—its gym is different from the other Galarian Gyms." Piers closes his eyes with a tight sigh. "See, back home we have a phenomenon... a _style_ I suppose, we call it Dynamaxin'."

Dyna-what-now?

"Never heard of it."

"Not surprised. None a the other regions I've toured in seem to use it," Piers mutters with slight reproach. "It basically makes Pokémon crazy strong, and huge. My gym doesn' have what's needed to Dynamax, so trainers see it as borin'. I try to give excitin' battles without it, incorporatin' concert visuals and everythin', but..." He shrugs and his lips quirk out on one side. "Can't really compete with the spectacle of the whole rest of the region."

Guzma frowns. Dynamaxing sounds an awful lot like the Z-moves Alola has. He wonders if Piers has heard about that yet, or if the Galarian would want to try it out while he's here. Most of the few trainer tourists that show up in Alola are eager to get their hands on a crystal to see what it unleashes in their Pokémon.

He doesn't like the idea of helping Piers try it, but he sounds pretty down about being stuck with normal battles.

His impression is proven completely wrong when Piers continues his spiel.

"...Even when I'm in the championship brackets or any exhibition matches, I don't Dynamax. I _could,_ but I always hated the idea of relyin' on overpowerin' your Pokémon to win. It ain't natural. Don't need any a that rubbish to be strong..." Piers trails off into a mumble and falls silent, brows furrowed and lips holding an unpleasant twist.

_So he feels the same way I do about that shit. Never thought I'd meet someone who understands._

He shifts closer in excitement. "Hey, listen ta this. Here in Alola, we got these crystals called Z-crystals, and they give Pokémon a super special move when ya activate it the right way. It's really powerful, but I always _hated_ it. I felt like it's a cheap way ta prove your strength. I wanted ta be a better trainer my own way. Ya know?"

That snaps Piers out of his sullen mood. The last of the fog clears from the his face and he perks up with slow-growing hope. "Yeah... Yeah! Fuck, I'm so glad you get it."

"Shit man, I get it more than you know."

Finally, someone who feels the same way!

"People back home would always call me stubborn or borin', but it's those battle styles that are borin'. Cheap cop-outs, like you said. We shouldn't rely on such specialized shite when battlin's supposed to be for everybody. Can't get away from it when it's so deep in the culture, but... we don't need it."

"Yeah..." He knows too well that nothing can pull Alola away from the thing he hates so much. He gave his shot at protesting it, but took things further than he should have and regrets it. He's paid for it. Is still paying for it. The debt he's accrued for his wrongdoings will be an anchor on his conscience for a long, long time.

Maybe he should come clean since they're on the subject. Piers might think he's terrible for this, but maybe he'll understand. Might as well spill.

Piers picks up on the mood shift, and enthusiasm fades into concern.

"Somethin' wrong, mate?" he inquires.

He gets cold feet under the pressure of Piers' preemptive worry. "Nah, nothin'..."

"Come on, you can tell me. We're friends, I'll hear whatever's on your mind. Whatever it is, I won't hate you for it. Promise."

_Fuck. I can't hide it from him. Not after he says it like that._

"If ya say so." He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "Back when I was a shitty person, I... kinda stole those crystals from kids lookin' ta complete the island challenge. It was my way of rebellin', and also my way of tellin' them they don't need those things ta get stronger. They just need ta believe in themselves and their team and give it all they got."

Stealing things from actual kids. Wouldn't be a surprise if Piers is disgusted with him.

"Used ta have a trunk in here full of 'em. Just the bug type ones. I ended up givin' 'em all back ta everyone and apologizin' personally, but still. Can't undo the fact I did that shit in the first place."

Guzma looks so downtrodden after revealing that information, while Piers is completely unaffected. He doesn't shy away from stating so, either.

"I'm gonna be honest with you mate. Don't sound t'me like you did much wrong."

What Guzma did was the rough equivalent to stealing Dynamax bands from people. A major setback to a young trainer's path through the challenge, but not impossible. The Spikemuth Gym serves as a reminder that the technique isn't everything. Then again, no aspiring trainer would ever make it past Raihan, or any rungs of the championship bracket where the other Leaders don't hold back, without their band. Still, Galar is different from other regions. Unique in its structure. Made to be dependent on the phenomenon to such a degree that one can't think of Galarian battling without picturing towering Pokémon and devastating attacks that shake the whole stadium.

Alola's different. From what he knows about this region's system, being deprived of a special flashy move hardly sounds crippling to a kid that knows what they're doing, and Piers has seen firsthand how up-and-coming trainers are getting stronger and stronger every year.

Guzma only gapes at him. Piers offers a small smile and elaborates.

"Those crystal things sound like accessories to bein' a good trainer, not anyone's core. 'S not like they _really_ lost anythin' valuable, right?"

Guzma was just protesting what he thought was wrong, just like Piers did. Nothing could have stopped Piers from sticking his middle finger up at the system and turning his and his town's biggest shortcoming into a point of pride. Spikemuth does things its own way and fuck what anyone else might think. He can't ever find fault with someone taking action in line with their morals, meaning he doesn't find fault with Guzma.

Guzma's still avoiding his gaze. He's really hung up on this. It'll take more than just reassuring words to bring him back up. Outside of words, there's always... touch. Looks like he'll get his wish after all.

The blanket whispers as he pulls his arm free. He reaches out, body tense but ignored as he powers through any hesitation and cups Guzma's cheek. Fuck, it's unexpectedly soft. Warm, too. He can't bring himself to take his hand off just yet, even though it worked to make Guzma look at him. The shadows under the boss's eyes seem deeper than usual, and it's not justs the murky light.

"Listen t'me. I respect rebellin' against shite like that. It's good you gave the things back and apologized, but really, wantin' to stick it to the system is never gonna get on me bad side."

He takes a risk and strokes his thumb across a cheekbone, right underneath Guzma's tired, haunted eye, like he can rub the shadows away. Just this one touch should be alright.

"But I..." Guzma mumbles, still unwilling to believe him.

"You're all right in my book, mate." Piers smiles a candlelight smile. His thumb caresses again over Guzma's warm face despite his intention of only doing it once. He can't stop now that he's started.

His whole chest is about to _burst._ Piers is being so gentle with him that all these little buried parts of him are surging up starving, wanting to seize this little gesture, clutch it close, and guard it forever so no one can take it from him.

The last person who touched him like this was...

Lusamine.

His whole body shivers as she snakes into his mind, unwanted and insidious, never leaving him alone during the times he needs her gone the most. Her touches were poison, a means to manipulate, to get him to do awful things for her. Sometimes _with_ her. She'd always swing around when he was at his lowest points and make promises so sweet and loving that any fool she set her sights on would get trapped without realizing.

Like the idiot he was, he fell for it. And for her. All it took were sweet words and sweet touches just like these, and he walked right into her web. She had him wrapped around her pinky while he was fatally infatuated.

Piers is _not_ like that, not like her, he can tell already. Evasive as he can be, Piers wears his heart on his sleeve, and has no reason to lie, much less manipulate. He's already famous, already seems to have everything he wants. There's nothing Guzma can offer him. Nothing.

Maybe they shouldn't even be friends, in that case.

_I'd only drag him down. He has nothing to gain from me._

But... what he said. 'You're all right in my book,' and the way he's still cupping his cheek all gentle. Sweet words, sweet touches, but safe. It's safe this time.

He needs a good relationship for once, a relationship with someone who understands him and likes him as he is, and if it's with a guy like Piers he'll do anything to keep it.

The back of Piers' hand is cold when he touches it. The stroking stops.

"Yer alright in mine, too." His voice is low and smoother than he thought he could make it.

The pale hand caught against his cheek twitches, but doesn't pull away. Piers shifts a smidge closer and the gap between them shrinks even more. Their knees knock against each other. They seamlessly adjust their legs, not to stop the contact, but ease up on the pressure. It's warmer now, between them. Shared body heat, or something else too? Kinda hard to think when those pretty eyes are resting on him.

Piers blinks, and the spell breaks. "Glad we're on the same page again."

"Yeah..." He airily replies. This is all a little overwhelming.

Piers' hand slips away from his cheek.

They've only known each other for a day, but it already feels like they're meant to be close. Like they're both misshapen puzzle pieces that barely fit in anyone else's picture, but here they are, fitting in just fine with each other. Friendship is weird like that. Him and Plumeria became fast friends, too, but this is something else.

He looks over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. The time changed since he last checked it, so it really is working.

2 AM? Shit, time flew by...

He sighs and relaxes. "It's gettin' late. We should probably sleep."

He says that, but he's really enjoying Piers' company and doesn't want this night to end. Everything feels so right, right now. But it's late, and Piers has got jet lag to iron out, and there's still time to get to know each other more. Piers _is_ here for a whole seven days. That's plenty of time.

Piers pouts. The moment ended too soon.

"Tsk, suppose so... I'm jet-lagged though, slept on the plane, so it's not like I'm that knackered."

Guzma smiles that stupid-handsome smile. "Come on, sweet cheeks. Let's hit the sack. Ya need yer beauty sleep after all."

_Like I'm the pretty one here._

"Oh al _right._ No more sleepover gossip." He sighs dramatically and pulls his hand fully under the covers, tucking it below his chin. It's so warm after being sandwiched between face and rough palm, and the heat's dissipating away too quickly.

Wild day he had. Lost his Pokémon, got dragged all over the island getting them back, made a new friend all by himself, got into his bed for a sleepover... Will the rest of his stay in Alola be this eventful? He kind of hopes not. He said he wasn't tired, but today really sapped his energy.

Closing his eyes is easy. Creaky mattress or not, it's still rather comfortable, and far more familiar of a surface than the lavish bed at the resort. Soft blankets, too. Not that thick, but with how pleasant of a night it is, they don't need to be. His favorite part is probably the pillow. Not for its plushness or thickness or whatever else people value in what goes under their head at night, but for its comforting scent. He could definitely fall asleep easy on this.

The comfortable silence breaks when Guzma quietly offers, "Maybe next time we share a bed, it can be at wherever you're stayin'."

_Next time. Next time!_

For all he dislikes the rich resort, if he's got a familiar face with him, then spending the night there won't be so bad. Hell, just the knowledge that one day Guzma will hang out with him there will make the place tolerable until it happens.

"You'd wanna do this again?" he asks, hope leaking into his voice.

"Yeah, why not." Glory be, it's really going to happen. "Maybe we'll be better friends by then too." _It's happening!_ "Yer probably at that Akala resort, right?"

It's hard to speak steadily when the thrill of success, social success—he's really made Guzma his friend and Guzma wants to do this again—is racing through his veins and beating on his heart.

"Yeah! Real posh place. Big room." Too big for one. Kind of like this bed here.

"Not surprised they're givin' ya such special treatment. Alola's known for hospitality."

"I believe that. I'm livin' it right now, aren't I?" He shifts around a bit to achieve maximum comfort. May or may not have edged a bit closer.

And a little closer again.

He could probably get away with a bit more—

"Stop yer wigglin'. If ya scoot any closer, you'll be on top of me."

Caught red-handed, dammit.

"Sorry. Didn' notice," he fibs.

"It's a'ight... Not complainin'."

A lack of complaint doesn't mean he can go ahead and start edging closer again. Honestly, he'd love to just... lay his body on top of Guzma's. The other man is so muscular and soft-looking at the same time, and has a very nice chest that would make a great pillow. Not to mention he's so warm...

That's all fantasy talk. They've barely become friends, there's no telling if things will continue to go so well. Hitting such a level of intimacy within only a week is a laughable concept. And Piers himself is a skinny bony bastard, with elbows that classify as weapons and hipbones you could sharpen knives on. Not the best thing to cuddle. Just because his best friend likes it doesn't mean Guzma will. Still, nice to think about...

"I'll settle down." Not willingly. "See ya in the mornin', Guz."

"Heh. Night, Piers."

Now to just calm his mind and heart enough to actually get some proper rest.

_Yeah, good luck with that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They sure did make an agreement not to let sexual tension get in the way of things. Wonder how that's gonna pan out for them. Surely such a pact will hold strong and not fall apart at any time.
> 
> Hours remaining: 146


	3. Self-Sabotage and Self-Initiative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things we learned last chapter:  
> 1) Golisopod and Raihan both wish their best friends luck.  
> 2) Guzma and Piers have a lot in common.  
> 3) Sleepovers are a great way to bond.
> 
> **This chapter contains mentions of child abuse, a character drinking alcohol self-destructively, and a drunk character briefly wondering what would happen if they disappeared/were no longer around.**
> 
> Translation Notes:  
> NOTE that neither of us are native Hawaiian speakers, but we did our best to research properly. If we've made any glaring mistakes, please let us know, so we can improve our knowledge and the fic's accuracy. There's other Hawaiian words throughout the chapter, that are either explained within the text, or their meaning will be learned later.
> 
> Ka'u aikāne - my friend  
> hale aikāne - close family friend, the family in this case being Team Skull  
> ihu papa'a - scab nose, an insulting term for a lunkhead

Guzma got a full night's sleep for once. No nightmares or hangovers or anything, and most bizarrely of all, he woke up on his own. Feels pretty good. He can sense it's still morning, too. Late morning.

He blames Hala for his budding early riser tendencies. He used to sleep well into the afternoon, sometimes flipping around into being a total night owl. Now look at him. Waking up in the actual morning like some kind of responsible adult most days. Even on his off day, it feels wrong to sleep in.

Better get up now that he's awake.

The sight that comes into focus catapults him into full consciousness once he realizes what's in front of his face.

Piers. Sleeping soundly and looking like an angel without any scowls or sneers. He's way prettier than Guzma ever noticed before... Long lashes, high cheekbones, pale lips... A regular Snow White. No, wait, the broad who was passed out all the time looking pretty was Sleeping Beauty, right? Yeah.

Taking his eyes anywhere off Piers' face crosses the border of peace. His sleep hair is wild _,_ the craziest Guzma's ever seen. The layered waves twist and spray in every direction, spilling onto the pillows and over the blankets and surrounding Piers' fine features like a mane. He really is like a lion. Sure as hell heard him roar yesterday. All fired up like a Pyroar. Guess he's more Beauty and the Beast, then, all wrapped up into one.

He thinks back to when Piers yelled at the top of his lungs barely past dawn. God, was it really only yesterday? Already feels so long ago that this guy was pitching a fit in front of the house.

Strangely enough, yesterday night feels even further away than the morning was. The memory is already surreal, fairy tale and dreamy.

The return of his jacket, the paranoia that all Piers wanted was to get laid. Arguing about friendship. Finding out that they're both attracted to each other but not doing anything about it. Lots of getting to know each other... Piers said some shit last night that really hit him in the chest.

And here Piers is now. In Guzma's bed, snoozing away all peaceful. Like all that conflict and touchy-feely garbage never even happened.

A devious little idea flashes in his mind, and he grins to himself. Oh, this is gonna be good. Mean? Maybe. But worth it? Only one way to find out.

He slowly leans closer to the edge of ear peeking through the wild hair, inhales a silent breath, and belts out "WAKEY WAKEY PRINCESS!"

The blankets in front of him explode. He dodges back laughing as Piers flails every limb at once to recoil from the blast of noise. The blankets tangle around his arms and he curses up a muffled storm amidst the creaking bed springs.

"BLOODY hell, who in god's name—argh!" Piers fights the covers until he can fling them off and sling upright. "Who's the fuckin' princess here?" He snarls and tosses his head to get his mane out of his face, eyes darting around to see who woke him up.

Guzma only smirks and waves. He was right, that _was_ good. And so worth it. The sleepy softness he had the pleasure of witnessing is gone, blasted to oblivion like dew under a flamethrower, but honestly? This is much better. Piers is way more fun when his fangs are out.

"You are. Now we're even, princess." He grins wider when Piers' defensiveness condenses into a deeply sour scowl.

"Oh, I see. Real funny, innit. Har har," Piers growls, flops back down, and aims a disdainful glare up at him. "Thought I said I was sorry for that whole thing yesterday..."

"Ya did. But payback's a bitch, _innit?"_

Piers glares like he wishes Guzma would spontaneously combust as he drags the covers back over himself, hiding everything but his own glowering eyes.

"Petty tosser," the singer throws under his breath, caught mostly by the blanket but also by Guzma's ears.

He'll ignore that. He remembers all too well what it was like to not be a morning person.

Guzma glides out of bed and heads towards his dresser, stripping off his pajamas along the way. He doesn't mind getting nude in front of his guest. He's got nothing to be ashamed of, or anything to hide, especially after last night's sharing-and-caring session. And _maybe_ he wants to get a rise out of Princess here. Having some leverage over him will be very nice indeed.

Piers' eyes follow the snarking man out of bed. Sodding bastard, thinking it's funny to wake him up like that. Talk about rude. At least he has the whole bed to himself now. He can get some extra sleep. His eyes easily drift close, but the sharp flop of pants against floor gets his attention enough to open them again. He blinks at what he sees.

There's Guzma's bare arse. The tattoo is visible too, but who cares about that, Guzma's tan—less tan than the rest of him, but still tan—bottom is on full display. Man's completely nude. From this distance, it's easy to make out the full set of tan lines he has, but it's hard to care about literally anything other than that arse.

From the safety of the bed and the covers and Guzma's turned back, Piers lets himself stare.

Objectively, it's a very nice arse. Very... round. As Guzma steps into a new pair of black pants, the muscles in it flex and Piers' throat goes a little dry.

Okay. Nothing wrong with a little casual nudity. Just two blokes getting ready for the day, nothing wrong with that. Piers has seen far more than bare backs and bottoms in the locker rooms of Galar's Gyms.

Then again, none of what he's seen in the locker rooms were quite like this.

His eyes shamefully cling to the sight until pants are pulled up to obscure Guzma's rear once more.

He settles into the blankets, determined to sleep now that the distraction is gone, but because his brain both traitor and ally, it replays the distraction against his closed eyelids.

Did Guzma not put on any underwear, or did he just miss that step in his distraction? His brows furrow and he pulls the covers tighter over himself, already half on his way to passing out again.

A rough voice interrupts his drowsing. "You should really get up. It's already about eleven, so Nanu probably stopped by. Hopefully the gang didn't eat it all already."

Eat what...? Nanu brings food?

Piers groans to express how much he doesn't care about the time or visitors or missing breakfast. He's always missing breakfast. "So what. 'M jet lagged, lemme sleep."

No response. Good. Sweet rest...

Before he can drop his guard completely, something shifts on the covers. His eyes fly open and glare in defense, hands tightening into the fabric.

"Don't you dare." He curls up harder and bares his teeth.

Guzma, shirtless and smiling and far too smug, gives the blankets a warning tug. "Last chance to get up, princess."

Piers weighs his chances. Bluff and lose, or give in and get up all nice and gentle-like?

Bluff and fuckin' lose, of course, like hell is he letting any early riser bully him out of bed. He's gone his whole life without letting morning people hold any sway over his sleeping habits and he's not about to start now.

"Bite me," he hisses.

The dare goes exactly as well as expected.

"You asked." Guzma hauls the covers off the bed, and Piers, too stubborn to let go, gets dragged along with them onto the floor. His body unfolds and twists to avoid hitting the carpet with his face.

"Bloody—bastard!" He tumbles into a heap on the floor, tangled up in the covers. First being yelled awake, now this! The gangster's a fucking sadist.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Now get up!" Guzma sounds far too cheerful at his expense. "We got shit ta do!"

Like hell does he have shit to do! It's only the morning of his second day in Alola, he has plenty of time to go at his own pace. Only problem at hand is that Guzma might not leave him alone until he's on his feet.

Piers growls under his breath, fighting his way free and clutching at the bed to support his rise from the grave. His hair tangles and sticks around his face like cobwebs. He grimaces, pushing strands out of the way until he can see the room from a vertical orientation.

"I'm up." He hopes Guzma can both see and hear how unhappy he is with his new uprightness. "Unwillingly," he adds, just in case he hasn't.

"Good job, princess." Guzma waves him off and pulls a new shirt on.

He scowls and silently mouths the words right back to vent some pettiness. That damn nickname again. He doesn't have the energy to point out how much he hates it. Besides, if Guzma knew it annoyed him it'd only get used more.

Following the knobhead's example from earlier, Piers starts to strip. The borrowed sleep shirt drags his hair out and he shakes his head once shirtless, as if that'll make his hair any better. His bed head is always awful.

He lifts his bangs in front of his face. Tangled. Of course. The black and white are all blended together.

"Ya need more clothes? I can lend ya some if you don't wanna wear what ya had on yesterday."

How generous. Lending his clothes out for the... what is this, the third time? Piers is starting to feel like a damn charity case. But, he'd much rather not walk out wearing the togs he slept in. And he'd like to cover himself up again as soon as possible.

He drops his messy bangs with a curl of his lip. "I'll take a shirt, yeah."

Guzma throws him something. A shirt. Plain, white. Baggy. Familiar in how it hangs over him like a tarp; makes him look even more like a stick. Or a bone, maybe. Chewed on by dogs, runnin' around in shit-fitting clothes because they were the best he allowed himself to have.

He pushes the memory out of his head. His messy, tangled head. Gotta clean that up.

"Got a brush?" he says, more tired than ever. "This _princess_ needs to do her damn hair."

Guzma is reliable as ever with his smart mouth. "Sure thing, my lady." His smile drops when he gets a better look at the work Piers has ahead of him. "...Fuck, I don't envy you. Looks like a pain in the ass to deal with."

That draws a dry scoff out of him. "Maybe I'll make you do it then, as punishment for wakin' me up."

Nothing like a little spite to start his day off right.

"Ya sure you want me to do that? I'm not gentle. Don't wanna hurt your pretty little head."

His eye twitches at that. Guzma approaches, brush in hand, and holds it up like he's about to dub Piers a knight. How fitting. The king of his own castle, with the throne and the ego to prove it. Got loyal subjects, too.

Piers would find it funnier if it weren't for the unfortunate wording. He's not fucking delicate and he's not going to get hurt by a fucking hairbrush.

"Ye can't hurt me. Dare you to, even."

Guzma smirks and wiggles the brush. "If that's what your majesty wants."

He swipes for it. The brush vanishes behind Guzma's back.

That little...

Piers scowls down his nose. His nasty look is rebuffed with a cheeky grin, wide and crescent. Too honest a smile. Daring him to try and find something hidden behind it. It's the same childish confidence of a kid watching a parent check the wrong spot at hide and seek.

 _Can't catch me,_ it says, _but you can try._

 _...Well,_ Piers sighs to himself, _guess I signed up for this. S'ppose I don't hate it._

He breaks his gaze away and cracks his neck. He's already half-lost this. "We really playin' games, _pal_?"

Guzma leans up higher on his toes, chasing the averted gaze.

"Maybe we are, _buddy._ So what'll it be? Want me ta brush yer majesty's hair?"

He kind of hopes Piers keeps playing along. Then he could feel how soft that mane is once again. The only touch he was able to give it was last night, when he pushed it away from Piers' face, and god if that wasn't a little taste of heaven.

At the same time he kinda hopes Piers says no. That's a lot of hair and brushing it will take fucking forever. Then _again,_ he's spent time on worse things. He's always been fond of long hair on others. Likes looking at it, how it moves. He's never gotten to brush any before. Plumes won't let him touch hers, and Lus—... Nevermind her.

To encourage Piers along, he chuckles and wiggles the brush again. "I won't hurt ya, princess. Promise."

A sudden about-face sends Piers' hair whirling. It sways over itself before finally settling and damn if that's not a sight. Covers his entire back. Like brambles or briars, all spiky and tangled. He can barely see Piers' upper body through it all.

"Start at the ends and work yer way up. Ye don' have to be _too_ gentle, but don't do any yankin', got it?" Piers rattles off.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Shit." The instructions aren't unwelcome. Joking about causing hurt is one thing, actually doing it is another.

Guzma gathers the ends and can't help but take a moment to weigh the locks. So thick... How does Piers do anything with all this weight on his head? Maybe that's what the collar's for. Keeps his head screwed on tight. Guzma smirks to himself and works the brush through the tips of the black and white thicket. So far so good.

He makes it halfway up before he accidentally hits a snag. Piers doesn't flinch, but Guzma winces anyways. "Fuck."

"'S fine. Keep goin'."

He eases the brush free of the tangle. "A'ight... Here, lemme..." He bites the handle of the brush so he can tease the knot loose with his fingers, narrowing his eyes and leaning closer to better see. He hardly ever concentrates this hard unless it's with a needle and thread.

If one of the gang busted into his room right now, he'd have a lot of explaining to do. He's big bad Guzma, not some kinda barber! Well, he's less bad now, but still. He needs to keep up appearances. Good thing all his grunts—kids, know to knock.

"Gah it," he says around the brush before he removes it. "This ain't so hard."

The wild mess gets progressively softer and silkier as he steadily tames it. Piers must take really good care of his hair for it to be this soft. Guzma hardly ever brushes his; it's short and doesn't tangle anyways, so who cares.

This, though. Fuck. It's probably the softest thing in Po Town right now.

Shouldn't be any harm in taking his time. Just a little. He predicted that this might take forever, but now he's bent on making sure that comes true. No one could blame him if they just got a feel of all this.

When the brushing reaches the nape of Piers' neck, the singer startles him with a mumble. "Been a while since anyone's done this fer me."

"Brush your hair?" He switches things up by trying to brush the underside. "I'm not surprised."

Piers fidgets and tilts his head back to accommodate the new motions. "Th'hell does that mean?"

"It's a lotta hair, that's all. I'm surprised ya put up with this. I couldn't."

A shoulder shrugs, barely visible. "I just like it long."

More silence. Guzma's arm is really moving now, to reach up and pull the brush all the way from Piers' scalp—black, white, black, white, black—to the tips that hang over his ass.

Forget sleeping beauties and their beasts or whatever. Right now it's all Rapunzel. 'Princess' really is fitting. Guy could be Galarian royalty for all Guzma knows. He's got the looks for it, even if his mouth is the furthest thing from refined. Who cares if a princess drops f-bombs on the regular if they've got hair like _this._

"Ya know princess, I was wonderin' how soft this was. Gotta say, it's better than I imagined."

Since he has no self control, he sinks his fingers up into the dense locks from underneath, and draws his hand towards himself. The strands slip right over his calloused palms and fingers, fluid as silk. Damn, that's nice...

"You were imaginin' it?"

Shit. Busted.

"Maybe a li'l." The hair slips out of his fingers.

Piers hums. Guzma continues his ministrations, faster this time.

"Usually I don't let strangers touch me. But you might as well get special privileges, as my first friend in Alola. But don't get a big head over it," he hastily adds.

Guzma nearly drops the brush. It's not like Piers revealed any new information; they traded that particular F-word to each other last night. But the way Piers phrased it just now made it sound extra important. First friend...

Maybe he will let it get to his head. Just a little. Piers is basically saying that he's special, and god, what kind of feeling is that? He's all warm inside. The fuck.

He hasn't noticed that he's stopped working, so he's caught off guard when Piers suddenly turns around and reaches for the brush only to pause. And stare down at his face. That he's only now realizing is very warm.

Ah, shit.

A smirk curls over Piers' pretty face, and that open hand redirects upwards. The back of it presses against his forehead, and the cold touch only makes his face hotter.

"Feverish, are ya?"

The tease snaps him out of his freeze. He knocks the hand away.

"Tch. Fuck you." He throws a middle finger up and walks away towards the door. "While ya finish gettin' changed, I'mma clean up. I'll get ya a toothbrush so you can do the same."

The menial tasks of brushing his teeth and washing his face don't distract him enough to keep his mind off a couple things. Those "things" being Piers, and his current feelings towards the guy. That snarky, moody, kinda bitchy, really sexy, has-a-lot-in-common-with-him guy.

_There's definitely somethin' between us._

They've got good chemistry, that's undeniable. The rapid-fire teasing especially gives that away. They've become friends faster than he's ever befriended anyone before, even Plumes. Maybe they just click that well?

Nah, it's more than that. There's a lotta tension. Good tension...

What kind of tension, he's not sure. And whatever happens once that tension breaks... He's not sure of that either.

He wipes his face down and checks beneath the sink for an extra toothbrush. He always keeps extras for the kids. After nabbing the one remaining pink one, he makes his way back to his room and sees Piers fully dressed in the borrowed t-shirt, with the same tight shorts from yesterday completing the outfit. The white tee isn't that far off from the guy's actual skin tone in this dim yellow lighting.

"Hey, here." He tosses the spare toothbrush. "You look good in that shirt, by the way. 'S fuckin' huge on ya."

"Don't be sarcastic. Not my fault all your clothes are so baggy." Piers pulls at the fabric like he's trying to find a solution to the excess. "Feels like I'm swimmin' in this."

Guzma stands there and watches him fuss. It's pretty cute. He shakes his head of the thought, masking it with a laugh and hiding behind a word he's confident Piers doesn't know.

"'Auli'i."

Piers' hands freeze mid-tug. "...You makin' fun o' me?" He looks up with narrowed eyes and a wary grimace and Guzma's smile teeters.

"Nah, it just means 'cute.' There's other meanin's, too, but I'm sayin' it like, 'yer cute.' That's all."

It shatters Piers' guard. His mouth falls open and his face goes pink, which only brings the grin back to Guzma's face.

He can't resist. "Feverish, are ya?"

"Eat yer own dick," Piers snaps. "I'm goin' to the fuckin' lav."

"If I could I would!" Guzma yells after him. A middle finger is the last thing to exit the bedroom.

The bathroom is, as Guzma vastly understated last night, 'pretty messy.' It's a wreck.

Constellations of black mold dot the ceiling and every other wall tile has a crack or a chip in it. Some tiles are missing entirely, revealing scars of cheap glue in the drywall. The shower looks fine, but the toilet is _missing._

At least it passes the dirt-scraping bar that is having a functioning mirror.

Piers' pink face glares back at him.

What the hell was what back there. There's no way that pompous bastard actually meant he was cute. It was teasing. Just teasing. Sarcasm. Jokes.

 _Don't let him get ahold of you. It's just regular ribbin', like with Rai. No different. ...Okay, Rai really does mean what he says, so it_ is _different then, isn't it? Ugh..._

He hunches over the sink and douses his face in icy water. His hair slips over his shoulders and he growls in frustration when his bangs fall forward and get wet. Dammit...

His hair tie drags off his wrist and secures everything back except for the bangs. They're all sorted thanks to the brushing. Guzma did a good job on his hair. Quick and mostly painless. He nearly drifted off standing up, it felt so nice...

While he's brushing his teeth with the borrowed toothbrush (is the pink handle a coincidence?), he pulls his phone out to pick over any notifications. The most important one is a text from Raihan, dated roughly four hours ago.   
  


**Raihan:** Operation Friendship: status report!

  
Leans, spits, rinses and smirks. He sends a message that gets read almost immediately, which is no surprise, knowing Rai.   
  


**Piers:** top secret, access denied.  
  
**Raihan:** But I've got the highest clearance, agent! You report straight to me!  
  
**Piers:** you could be an imposter... whats the password  
  
**Raihan:** Let's see, I think I remember...  
  
**Raihan:** The password is: omelette?  
  
**Piers:** really  
  
**Raihan:** It's the closest thing to a secret code you have :P Come on mate I'm dying for the gossip. Been thinking about your little mission all day!  
  
**Piers:** oh alright  
  
**Piers:** status report is: success. i think.  
  
**Raihan:** Wait already?? No way did you work that fast  
  
**Piers:** glad to know you had no faith in me  
  
**Raihan:** You're not allowed to blame me, it took me like a year before I could convince you to hang out with me without you thinking I had some ulterior motive :p  
  
**Raihan:** Like I'm not gonna lie, I'm kinda jealous of this bloke  
  
**Raihan:** Tell me he's not hotter than me at least  
  
**Piers:** you really poutin over this?  
  
**Raihan:** I knew it. He is hotter than me, isn't he  
  
**Raihan:** Just say it, break my heart so I can get over it faster  
  
**Piers:** oi  
  
**Piers:** cool your jets, gingersnap  
  
**Piers:** just because i have a new friend you think im gonna care about you less or somethin?  
  
**Raihan:** Alright, alright, I got it  
  
**Raihan:** No more jealousy from me, no sir  
  
**Raihan:** ...is he hot tho?  
  
**Raihan:** Like, would you tap that  
  
**Piers:** .........won't lie he's my type  
  
**Piers:** not gonna tap nothin though  
  
**Raihan:** Dude  
  
**Raihan:** You should do it  
  
**Piers:** no  
  
**Raihan:** Get laid by an Alolan hottie  
  
**Piers:** no!!  
  
**Piers:** for one thing i know youre just deflecting cos ur still green-eyed, come off it  
  
**Piers:** second, im tryin to concentrate on more important things. like gettin to know him better  
  
**Piers:** we already talked about that btw. we both agreed that yeah, we're attracted to each other, but like rational adults we're gonna look past that and not let sexual tension get in the way of our friendship.  
  
**Piers:** i wanna do this seriously. i made a friend on my own and i wanna keep him so im tryin to play it safe  
  
**Raihan:** ...Piers  
  
**Piers:** ......what.  
  
**Raihan:** You  
  
**Raihan:** Are so precious  
  
**Raihan:** Fuck  
  
**Raihan:** I love that about you  
  
**Piers:** don't go on  
  
**Piers:** please  
  
**Raihan:** I'm serious though! I really really do. And I promise I'm not jealous anymore. I'm happy for you, really.  
  
**Raihan:** I know you're gonna get him good. You got me good after all!  
  
**Piers:** if i recall you're the one who came after me.  
  
**Piers:** this shit is fucking hard btw. dunno how i managed. or how u managed.  
  
**Raihan:** Ah, but it's so so worth the trouble, isn't it? I'm SO proud that you're following in my masterful footsteps. As long as you don't forget who your favorite is ;)  
  
**Piers:** yeah yeah

When he shuffles back into the bedroom, Guzma's at his bed stand, dropping several pokeballs into the pockets of his baggy pants. So that's where he keeps them.

He wants to make conversation, but without an argument this time. Arguing's fun, but there should be more to friendship than constant sniping if he wants this to develop more meaningfully. He's got to try something else. Something casual, something that gets Guzma to talk about himself, since everyone likes those sorts of questions, right?

Operation Friendship indeed...

Here goes nothing.

"Your Golisopod with you?" he asks as he steps up closer, casually as he can.

"Fuck!" Guzma jumps and turns to face him, ball still in hand and half-raised defensively. Great job, Piers, spooking him. "Uh, yeah, right here, why?"

"Just curious." He shrugs and crosses his arms.

Golisopod is a bug and water type, so if Guzma sticks with a type theme, chances are it's one of those two. Guzma doesn't seem like a water specialist. He's kind of hoping it's bug. He's never met a serious bug trainer before; they're not that common in Galar, especially among the young folk who take up most of the Gym Challenge roster every year.

Okay, trying again...

"What else've you got?"

The man in question perks up at the prospect of interest in his Pokémon. Good, success. Hopefully this gets easier as time goes on.

It's rare that anyone asks about his team. It's rare that anyone makes casual, friendly conversation with him at all. It could just be Piers' interest as a retired Gym Leader, or it could be the whole... friendship thing.

He's gonna go with the 'retired Gym Leader' explanation for now. Easier to process.

"Other 'n Gol, I've got a Vikavolt, Masquerain, Pinsir, and Scizor. Got an Ariados, too, but I don't have her with me right now."

"Fan o' bugs, I take it?" Piers tilts his head, eyes light and friendly and without a trace of condescension. He's actually interested.

Any chance to brag about his bugs (any bug really), he'll grab with greedy hands. Too many people look down on them as a type and he's always happy to educate.

"Hell yeah I am. Best type out there!"

"I've never met someone so into them. They're not a very popular type in Galar," Piers reveals.

What? That's ridiculous. Galar's gotta have some cool-ass bugs around. He'd love to see them. He's never been out of Alola before but someday he will be. It's always been a dream of his to visit other regions and see all the other bugs the world has to offer.

"Those people're missin' the fuck out, then. Weak-asses."

Piers covers his mouth and the corner of his eyes crinkle. "Do go on, bruv. I wanna hear more."

Well, since Piers is asking. Bug master Guz is more than happy to preach.

"Those people're weak 'cuz bug Pokémon are the best. People always overlook 'em but that's their mistake. Toughest type out there." He puffs out his chest. "They can take any hit and get right back up."

Piers' eyes flicker down and back up. Before Guzma can really process it, the singer clicks his tongue. "Bet I could change your mind if I gave you a proper introduction to my crew. Dark's where it's at. You haven' even laid eyes on my Obstagoon yet."

Right! He's been dying to see it! A Pokémon only found in Galar... It's not a bug type, but still, he's not gonna pass up this chance. He's gotta hide his excitement. Play it cool. Keep the upper hand and all that shit.

"What are ya waitin' for then?"

Piers startles. "What, now? In here?"

"Why not? Come on, hurry up and take your big beast out for me ta appreciate." He sticks out his tongue and winks.

The silver tongue piercing twinkles in the dim light, a tempting little star in the indoor dusk.

"You're a right tosser an' I know you know it." Piers scoffs and blindly reaches behind him to grab the correct ball from his belt.

His partner bursts free behind him with a sharp roar. No such thing as an indoor voice to an Obstagoon.

Guzma's eyes are already wide. Now then...

Piers turns on a heel and breaks into a grin. Feels like it's been forever since he's had his partner by his side. Goony shakes himself and peers around the room curiously. It's nice and dark in the room with only one lamp on, and with Piers right in front of him there's no reason for the Pokémon to be tense.

"Welcome to Alola, mate."

He strides across the room and slings an arm around his partner's long neck. Affectionate habit has him ruffling the mohawked fur and spiking it up even more.

"This here is my first star." He introduces his partner with pride and an open-palm thump on the Obstagoon's furry chest. "Had him the longest, ever since he was a cute little Zigzagoon tearin' up the house. Now he's a big fierce Obstagoon who likes to roar as much as me."

Goony demonstrates by throwing his head back with a proud roar. Piers playfully snaps his teeth and "Raaargh"s right back, much to Goony's glee.

"Match made in heaven, huh?"

Piers sticks his tongue out through a smile to match Obstagoon's expression.

"You know it. Goony and I are best mates. Understands me better'n anyone." Black lips peel in a toothy grin and Goony throws his head back again to catch and lick his wrist.

"Nice ta finally see him. Never met a foreign Pokémon before." Said foreign Pokémon sniffs the unfamiliar air and pins his eyes on the stranger. "Think he's givin' me the stink-eye..." Guzma crosses his arms and leans forward with a squint of his own.

Their postures match. Piers hides his amusement with another pat on his partner's noggin. So far so good. Goony can be iffy around strangers. Guzma may be an arsehole, but he's not malicious, so Goony shouldn't have any reason to get defensive.

"He might look mean, but he's friendly enough. Kinda like you 'n me. Come closer, he won't bite." Piers lowers his voice to preemptively scold his partner. "You'd _better_ not."

The Pokémon makes an innocent sound and licks his arm. Good enough.

Guzma steps closer and Goony snaps back to staring. Once Guzma's within swiping distance, Goony drops his head and growls, hunching his shoulders to look even bigger. Nothing Piers wasn't expecting, but Guzma freezes in caution.

"Come off it." He snorts and ruffles the raised hackles. "This bloke helped get the band back together yesterday. You should be thankin' him. Without Guzma here, I dunno when I'd have gotten you back. He's a friend."

Just like that, the intimidation evaporates. The beast perks up, drops his shoulders, and starts sniffing towards this new friend in earnest. All good, then. With a single encouraging pat, the Pokémon dashes forth, shoving his nose at the boss's chest and zig-zagging his snout up towards Guzma's face.

"Woah! Goony, right?" Guzma lifts his arm so the creature can snuffle around behind him. It's a cute sight. Not so cute that he forgets to keep a straight face, though.

"Yup. Real creative, aren't I. When he was a Linoone he was Loony. Still is," he affectionately prods.

The only thing that's really changed about his partner as they grew up together was the increase in power and increase in size, the latter of which was cause for some whining. No matter how much Goony might miss it, he can no longer fit in his trainer's lap. The only way he can nap on Piers is with head and neck at most.

Obstagoon returns to Guzma's front and presents his head, hunched flat and forward. Means he wants to be pet.

...He told Goony to be thankful, but this is just odd. He never warms up to anyone this fast. Must have smelled something he likes. An Obstagoon's nose is never wrong.

"You can go ahead..." Piers shrugs and takes a seat on the bottom stair of the throne, knees jutting up as convenient rests for his arms. "He says you can touch."

Guzma slowly lifts a hand and rests it on the waiting head. The hand does not get bitten. Instead, Goony lolls his tongue and tilts into the scratches that proceed.

"Heh! This is so cool. A Galarian Pokémon..."

Piers makes the mistake of glancing up at Guzma's face. Those sharp eyes are alight with wonder. Like a kid presented with a new toy. No, that's not quite right. More like a kid who loves reading being given a new book from their favorite series.

It does something funny to his chest.

Before he can be caught staring, Piers averts his eyes to the carpet between his socked feet. Losing line of sight doesn't do a thing to block out Guzma's enthusiasm; it's surging through his voice and flooding the damn place.

"This is so _cool._ I never thought I'd get a chance to see one a' these! The fur is amazin', look at these markings! The eyes! And damn, these claws..."

Goony is more than happy to stand tall, pose, and be admired as he's circled by his newest fan. Always was a show-off.

"Don't give him too much attention, it'll get to his head." He doesn't specify who he's talking to on purpose.

After standing in place for another minute of indulging Guzma's admiration, Goony barks. Piers jerks his head up in time to see the Obstagoon lurch forward and butt his head against the gangster's side.

"Oi!" he calls, knowing how that always ends for him, but Guzma stays stable on his feet. Didn't even stumble. In fact, the boss looks delighted at the initiative to touch him back, rough as it was.

"He used to knock me down all the time doin' that. Not so much anymore, thank god. Took him a while to learn his own strength after evolvin'."

Equally delighted by how sturdy Guzma is, Goony starts butting and pressing with double the enthusiasm, snuffing and whuffing the whole time. Guzma stands his ground, arms crossed, looking proud... fuck, his smile is dazzling.

"Heh! He likes me!" Guzma brags.

"Sure does..."

Would Guzma's favorite Pokémon like him this much? He hopes so...

Obstagoon playfully barks and shoves harder.

"Come on, Goony, knock it off. He can't play with you in here."

Guzma tousles the fur on the Pokémon's neck. "Aww, why can't I? Golisopod and I play in here all the time."

Goony perks up and fidgets in place. Oh, lovely.

"Don't encourage him, I'm warnin' you. He's already mad fer it." He tenses where he sits.

"Psh, mad for what?" Instead of waiting for an explanation, Guzma slaps his thighs and dammit, he's really pushing his luck right now! "Come on boy! Come here!"

The floor shakes when Goony slams his front paws onto the carpet, dropping onto all fours, eyes bright, tongue hanging, haunches tight with the intention to pounce. Piers' eyes dart from the Pokémon, to Guzma, and to the space directly behind the man, occupied by a dresser and a lamp. _Something's_ going to break, whether its organic or not.

The Pokémon hunkers low and wiggles his rump.

"Oi, oi, none a that!" Piers scrambles to his feet and throws himself between the two. It doesn't do a thing to stop Goony from pouncing, but with his trainer in the way the Obstagoon has the good graces to check himself and not tackle as hard as he first intended.

It's still enough to take Piers down. He curses and braces himself to hit the floor, but a pair of sturdy arms catch him and he hits against a muscular chest instead.

"Damn, he really doesn't hold back, huh?" Guzma's voice rumbles above and against him, thanks to the chest against his cheek. God dammit, why is it so... plush. And warm.

Piers pulls his legs under him and stumbles to stand on his own. "That _was_ him holdin' back." He grumbles and pries himself away from Guzma, resisting the urge to rub the warmth from his cheek. "I told you not to push it. He gets riled easy."

"I couldn't help it! Needed ta see what he's like."

"And you can do that _outside_ ," he says, exasperated. "I won't be responsible if you break anythin' in here. Goony's awful indoors."

"Nothin' in here is worth that much anyways. If he breaks somethin', whatever. Besides, you're the one who let him out in here."

"And you're the one who asked me to! I didn't think you'd try playin' with him." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Guzma could have gotten hurt, or something could have broken when there are enough broken things in this house.

A cold nose presses into his arm and a low whine begs for forgiveness. His arm raises automatically to accommodate Obstagoon's head, and the Pokémon happily leans closer despite the incoming scolding. It's more for show than anything, they both know it won't get any better.

Piers kneels in front of his partner, grabbing at dense cheek fur and leaning in close with a theatrical frown. "Hyperactive lout, shame on you. Guzma's got a pal who's bigger'n you, and I'm sure he's well-behaved."

A slobbery apology drags up his face and messes up his freshly-brushed bangs. Goony cackles and attempts to smooth them out with his claws.

"Alright, alright, you're off the hook. Since when have we cared about well-behaved anyways?" He chuckles and uses his partner's shoulder to stand up. "Always gonna be Obstropagoon."

Seeing how close Piers and his Obstagoon are makes him think of his own Pokémon. Piers has yet to meet Gol properly. Maybe he could bust him out so they can actually interact. It'll be good to see what Gol thinks of him too, as more than just an emergency passenger.

"Hey, wanna meet my bud? Since you brought out yers and all."

Piers looks up with his hand flopped over Obstagoon's face. "Yeah! Show me the big guy. Come on Goony, let's stand back."

Time to show off big bad Guzma's partner of mass destruction. Well, they won't be destroying anything in here, there's no battle. Gol's pretty gentle outside of battle.

His hand naturally wraps around his oldest friend's ball.

"A'ight, get ready for this!"

As soon as he's unleashed, Golisopod trundles up and nuzzles his face against the top of Guzma's head, and the affection puts a fresh smile on his face.

"Heyyy, bud! Why don't ya meet my new friend, hmm?"

Golisopod turns and fixes his eyes on Piers. Guzma pats the hard shell and lowers his voice, secretive.

"You remember him. _Ka'u hale aikāne,_ " he says under his breath. "Treat him right, okay?"

At that, Golisopod perks up, antennae twitching and betraying maxed out interest. Not that Guzma expects Piers to know a bug's tells.

He's hoping Gol doesn't treat Piers too weirdly. He wasn't exactly subtle yesterday about how he was dying to see Piers again and be friends with the guy, and the fact that Piers is standing here, in his bedroom, wearing his clothes and a smile on his face, should tell Golisopod that his trainer got a good start on his wish.

...Aikane?

Piers doesn't have much time to dwell on the foreign words (whispered, but he's got good ears and couldn't help but eavesdrop) before the Golisopod's staring gets to him.

It looks much bigger on dry land. It's a huge Pokémon! Would be intimidating if it—he, hadn't just cuddled on the mop Guzma calls a hairstyle.

He takes a slow step closer. "Hey there... Thanks for the ride yesterday, never got to say that properly."

The massive insect lumbers closer. At his side, Obstagoon takes up his typical stance, guard up, just in case. Piers is confident everything will stay civil, but he appreciates the protectiveness nonetheless.

Golisopod stops at arm's length, leans up a little straighter, and just stares up at him. Piers stares back, and takes the opportunity to absorb all the physical details about Guzma's friend.

The carapace is shining a lovely, healthy color, and the antennae are perked high. The dark eyes are seemingly static and unfeeling, but Piers can sense the emotion and intelligence behind them, and knows he's being observed right back. The way the Golisopod is hunched over is pretty endearing. Reminds him of Guzma, and a little of himself. And Goony. They all like hunching.

All in all...

"You're a handsome fellow, aren't you." Piers gives a small smile and raises his hand. When Gol doesn't growl or buzz or whatever Golisopods do to convey discomfort, he slowly reaches out, intending to pat the creature on the forehead, giving the bug ample to give his opinion on the act. Before he can touch, Golisopod makes a strange chittering sound, and Piers retracts his hand.

"Sorry, should I not...?" He looks to the trainer for help.

"Nah, you're good." Guzma pats his partner on the back and leans over its side to smile at him. No harm done then? "That sound means he likes ya."

"He does?"

He's done nothing to earn it, though.

Guzma passes a smirk to the giant isopod and gives him a nudge, and some unseen communication passes between them that Piers can't hope to parse. With a suspiciously innocent smile, Guzma extends his other hand. "C'mon, you can pet him, he won't hurt ya."

If he says so...

This is going real well. Golisopod likes Piers a lot, which is a great sign, and only makes him more excited to get to know the guy more and be better friends. Because if Gol likes someone, they can't be bad for him.

When Piers doesn't make a move yet, Guzma wiggles his fingers in the air.

"Alright then." Piers nods and bypasses his hand entirely, giving Gol a smooth rub across the carapace.

He drops his hand and rubs the back of his neck. He was kinda hoping he could take Piers' hand, but he's glad the guy isn't afraid of Gol and went straight to petting him. Golisopod would never hurt anyone. The only time it did was... hey, maybe Piers would wanna hear about that.

"You told me a li'l about Obstagoon and you, so I'll tell ya me n' Golisopod's story."

"Yeah? I'm listenin'." Piers doesn't take his eyes off Gol. He doesn't look like he's getting bored of petting the hard shell. Looks pretty happy, actually.

Guzma clears his throat and prepares for the long tale.

"I caught him when I was seven or eight. He was just a tiny Wimpod back then." He smiles proudly at the memory of first spotting the little thing scuttling around the beach.

"That's so young!" Piers' hand slides down to Gol's forehead and strokes him right between the eyes. He doesn't know it, but that's one of Gol's sweet spots. "Good on you, mate, I've heard Wimpod are slippery."

"Oh yeah. They're real hard to catch, 'specially when you don't actually have a pokéball." His dad never let him have any. They were firm believers in waiting until kids were eleven before getting their first Pokémon. "I remember gettin' covered in so much mud and sand."

Behind Piers, Obstagoon gets antsy again, staring at how his trainer is showing a bunch of love to another Pokémon.

"Ugh, sand, I know how unpleasant that can be... So you're tellin' me you caught a Wimpod with your bare mitts?" Piers chuckles, oblivious to his partner's jealousy. "How many tries did that take?"

"God, so fuckin' many. I was on that beach damn near every day tryin' my hardest. I really wanted one of these guys. One in particular always stood out ta me, I knew it had ta be him." There was something different about that Wimpod. It didn't look like it was afraid of him. More like it was encouraging Guzma to catch him. Didn't make shit any easier, though. He had to bust his ass to catch the rascal.

Golisopod chitters and sticks his face in Guzma's hair again. Obstagoon darts up to take advantage of his trainer's empty hands. Piers rests a hand on his needy partner, and for a moment all the two men do is pet their Pokémon.

The little smile on Piers' face makes him self-conscious.

He clears his throat and continues.

"Once I caught him, I brought him straight home, 'cause I was so proud of myself. Had ta show him off ta my mom. She was happy so for me. My dad, well, he beat me good for it. Goin' against his rules n' all. My mom convinced him to let me keep him, though. I'm glad she did."

He loves his mom, he really does. She has to put up with that shitty man, too.

The smile drops from Piers' face. "Wait, he what?"

Oh. He forgot how some parts of that sound pretty bad. Piers isn't used to the fact that his dad is an abusive piece of shit. "Uh... Yeah. My dad was a huge asshole."

"Guzma—"

He clears his throat into a fist. "Anyways, fast forward to when I was seventeen."

Piers' brow furrows, but he keeps his mouth shut and lets him continue.

"My dad and I got into a pretty rough fight one night. Was worse than usual. Wimpod busted outta his crate, gets between us. Thought I was gonna have ta protect him from my dad, but he evolves right there in front of me. Ready to protect _me._ "

His idle petting has stopped, and his gaze is sober, somewhere on the floor.

"Gol swiped at him, scratched him pretty good. Gave me time to get up n' run out the door. Gol followed me out, and we never looked back."

Now that he's done telling his story, there's nothing left to occupy his focus, stop him from paying too close attention to every move Piers makes.

"I'm glad you got away," Piers says, soft and reeking with sincerity. It doesn't sit right, because even if his story had some messed up parts in it, it was just some past bullshit. Not really worth anyone caring so much about.

Gol nuzzles into his hair. "Shoulda done it way sooner. Was too much of a wuss to get out any earlier'n that."

"You were brave enough leavin' when you did." Piers takes a shuffled step closer. Golisopod lets it happen, doesn't even twitch at the person entering his trainer's personal space, and that lack of action keeps Guzma from taking a defensive step back. "Ya didn' deserve a shite parent like that. And I'm sorry Gol had to evolve under such dire circumstances."

Why is he being so kind?

Guzma scuffs the ball of his foot on the carpet and crosses his arms with an overshot shrug. "What happened, happened. Nothin' worth spendin' too much time on." _Now drop it._

Pale hands lift. He tracks them, going stiffer the higher they raise, but all that happens is the singer adjusting his bangs, fixing them from the mess his Obstagoon made of them earlier.

"Still, though..." When the curtain of hair is brushed aside, he's hit with the full force of those eyes boring into him, driving icicles into his chest that are unbearably warm as they melt. "Wish I was there to help you."

He shoves his sunglasses down to hide his face before Piers can see anything. Prick doesn't even _know_ what he's just done. Guzma's heart beats a mile a minute as he imagines a tall skinny knight in shining armor coming to rescue him and Gol from a shitty home.

He can't let Piers know how much those bold words affected him. 

"Tch. It's done now. Don't worry yer pretty little face about it."

"I'll worry all I please about people I care about bein' in trouble." _He—?_ "But you're right, that's all in the past." Piers sighs and pulls on his choker, gazing at the shades covering his face. "You're in better company now, yeah?"

The subject change doesn't comfort him as much as he hoped.

"Yeah... I'd say yer much better n' my old man."

Infinitely better. Better than his dad, better than _her..._

A light chuckle makes his blush worse, thank god for his shades. "Bar ain't that high, is it? I'll still take it."

Guzma turns his head away, but he can't help but keep looking at Piers outside the edge of his shades. "Ya should. I'd say yer one of the few people I actually get along with."

"That I do take as a compliment." Piers smiles. It's unbearably sweet. "Likewise, you know?"

This guy is gonna be the death of him.

"Yer sayin' ya don't charm everyone ya meet with that sparklin' personality of yers?"

Piers rolls his eyes. "I'm cut from filthy cloth an' proud." His head lolls down and a knowing smirk crosses his face. "Ain't a problem, since I know you like it dirty, don't you?"

Much better. This he can work with.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans forward out from under Gol. "You know me too well already. What can I say, I like things hard n' dirty."

A flash of delight shines in those pretty eyes. "I might be good at makin' things... _difficult_ ," he redirects with a sneer. "Need me some practice takin' it nice and—"

The Obstagoon, fed up with being ignored and seeing his trainer pay attention to two strangers in a row, charges forward and shoves himself into the space between them with a bark. Piers stumbles back. "Bloody—Goony, can't ye go five minutes without a gander on yer mug?"

Goony responds with a rough yap. Piers scowls and crosses his arms. That annoyed scrunch to his face is pretty cute.

"Aw, he just wants some pets and yer bein' mean ta him. Not his fault. I'll pet ya if you'll let me, Goony."

He pushes his shades back up and reaches forward. The Pokémon eagerly noses under his hand and plops down right on his feet, head tilted back to beg for more pets.

"Now you're trapped. I don't pity you, mate." The dark-type trainer shakes his head. "You two have fun. I think I'll chill with Golisopod here. What say you, mate?" He pats the carapace. "Lend me your company?"

Obstagoon makes a weird noise and shoves away from him. Instead of going to Piers like he thought, the furry beast stands square in front of Gol and stretches his neck up to sniff. Golisopod makes a purring noise, and lowers himself down for Obstagoon to examine him.

"Or maybe our Pokémon are gonna hang without us." Piers shakes his head. "Here, let's take this outside. Gettin' right stuffy in 'ere."

They don't run into anyone on their way down, which is kinda weird. The kids have been pretty sparse these past couple weeks. As long as they're staying out of trouble, he won't pry.

Piers hisses as they step into the mid-morning sun. Obstagoon's eyes narrow into slits and without warning the Pokémon lets out a shriek of a sneeze that makes Guzma jump.

"I know, mate. Sun's overrated." Piers sniffs and squints down the empty road. "Malamar would hate this more'n you do."

Oh, hey! He forgot Piers had one of those. Dumb of him to forget. It's so rare to see one with a trainer. Malamars are elusive, prideful, and downright nasty when they're in a bad mood, which is basically all the time as far as anyone knows. He's gotta take this chance to see one up close. Like Obstagoon, it may not be a bug type, but still! How often does anyone get an opportunity like this?

He saunters up to Piers' side. "Ya know, I've never seen a Malamar before. Not in person. I know they're somewhere in Alola, but I've never been able to get a look at one."

Piers glances down at him. "That your way of sayin' you wanna meet her?"

"...Maybe."

"Say please and I'll think about it."

Seriously? The only way Guzma will _ever_ beg is under dire circumstances. "Oh, it's like that, is it? Not gonna say 'please.'" 

Piers crosses his arms and tilts his head back. "Guess I can settle for an apology then. For wakin' me up in such a shite manner."

"Fine. _I'm sorry_ ," he mocks. "There. That good?"

"More'n I expected." Piers snorts and drags his borrowed shirt up to access his belt. "Might as well bring 'em all out. Come on, loves, stretch your legs!"

Obstagoon and Gol head straight for the two Pokémon that release straight ahead on the overgrown road. The Skuntank who was so suspicious of him yesterday barely passes him a glance, opting instead to stretch and lay down for a nap in the sun. The Scrafty takes one look at Golisopod and nearly trips over nothing. Obstagoon intervenes to introduce them.

"Alright, let's see..." Piers does an about face to let the final Pokémon out into the short shadow the Shady House casts over the road.

Piers waves when Malamar emerges on guard, scanning the area for danger and finding none. She narrows her eyes and slowly floats into the light.

"Cheers Mal, remember this bloke from yesterday?" Piers uses his slouched shoulder as an arm rest. He resists the urge to shrug the touch off in front of the tense Pokémon. "He helped me get you 'n Scrapper back."

Malamar's attention shifts onto him. Damn, if looks could kill. Pictures don't do these Pokémon justice, they're way scarier in real life. Still, _looking_ scary don't mean shit. Gol looks scary and he can be sweet. Guzma of all people can appreciate a good resting bitch face.

"Oi, no need to glare." Okay, nevermind. She really is sending daggers at him. Piers' lips quirk apologetically. "She's always been antisocial. Not mean, she's slow to trust, that's all."

Piers' arm slips off his shoulder. The Malamar lets her trainer approach without any shift in her expression and without taking her eyes off Guzma. Piers pats her on the mantle and beckons him closer.

"He just wants a look at you, Mal. Indulge him, won't you?"

He eagerly creeps forward, careful not to make any sudden moves. When he doesn't get his throat slit, he happily squats before her so he can get a better look at her body, marvelling at the bright coloration. In the sunlight, the smooth skin has a slight shimmer, and the golden spots are mesmerizing even when not shining with light. The blades at the ends of her arms look razor-sharp. They could probably cut things to ribbons in the blink of an eye.

"Wow..." He slowly straightens up and lifts a hand, waiting for her to take it or smell it, whatever Malamars do to inspect people. "You're amazing."

Piers chuckles and pushes his hand away. "Flattery will get you nowhere with her. She ain't like Goony. Got a shite sense of smell, for one thing."

Malamar suddenly glides a few feet backwards, into the shade once more. A familiar shadow cools his back and he looks straight up.

"Oh, hey there bud. You wanna meet her too?" He stands aside and gestures for Gol to go right ahead. "All yours, buddy."

Mal halts and glares at the new intruder. Must be wary of his size. Gol, on the same wavelength as him as always, chitters and bows his head down, hoping to come off as friendlier.

It doesn't do shit. All the acid-tempered Pokémon does is click her beak and narrow her eyes to paper-edge slits. Oh well, can't win them all. They're used to people not warming up to them, and he doesn't want to push it. He knows how Pokémon can get. She'll come to him on her own terms. 

He chuckles and pats Gol's arm in consolation. "She'll warm up to us eventually. She's fucking cool, man. Glad I got to meet her."

"She's _very_ cool." Piers chuckles and shuffles up to his Pokémon. He rests a hand on her tentacled head with a smile. "Just takes some convincin' to give you the time o' day. A moment, please."

Some nonverbal exchange happens between them involving a lot of touch and squirming tentacles. It's always neat to see how people communicate with their Pokémon. Means they're really in sync, just like him and Gol are.

Golisopod chitters in a way that raises his brow. Never heard that sound before, what's up?

Guzma follows his buddy's line of sight all the way over to Malamar. Then back. Gol clicks his claws together and shuffles in place and _oh my god, no way._ Guzma doesn't know if he wants to question it out loud or not. For now he'll just observe.

Malamar clicks her beak and screeches. Her two bladed arms whip at her sides, practically skimming her trainer's body. Piers doesn't flinch at the knives flashing close enough that the wind in their wake flutters his bangs.

"Really?" Piers sighs. "If I can do it so can you."

Malamar hisses and shakes off his hand by squirming her tentacles. She floats proudly on her own, gaining some height to put herself slightly above them all, and takes her eyes off them to look disdainfully off at the others romping around. Haughty gal, ain't she? Gol can't be serious.

Golisopod stands up straighter at the next hiss. Large claws twitch, and he leans forward as far as he can tilt without taking a step.

This is amazing, holy shit. He never thought the day would come.

Piers stands back with a chuckle. "Well, Mal? You wanna say hi to Guzma and Golisopod here? Tough chaps, both of 'em."

At Piers' acknowledgement, Gol perks up in hope. Mal gives the other Pokémon a venomous look. Doesn't deter Gol any. He's put up with a lot of shit in his life, so a feisty new acquaintance is nothing, especially if Gol's interested in more than just friendship. Good luck, buddy, sure picked a hell of a gal to pine for.

It's hard to keep a straight face. He dodges to Piers' side and blindly reaches up, hooks his finger into the choker, and pulls Piers down so he can reach his ear. 

"Gol's got a crush."

Piers chokes. "He _what?"_

"Look! Check his posture, how the back shell pieces are quivering, how he's chittering..." He stifles his laughter and lets his finger slide out of the necklace. "He likes her..."

It's kind of cute. He's never seen his buddy like this, totally smitten! Eager to test his luck, Golisopod coos and approaches as Mal hovers stone-still in the air.

Now that Guzma's pointed it out, it's... kind of obvious that Golisopod has a special interest in Mal. Malamar herself is tolerating the close attention, which is astounding in itself, but what really blows his mind is that she's actually inspecting Golisopod back. Honoring him with her priceless attention. At least they're getting along...?

Mal rises even higher, arms curling dangerously, and she snaps her beak at Gol with a hiss like a knife being sharpened. It's a fearsome sight, to anyone not used to her body language or quirks.

"She, uh—" Guzma starts, cut off when elbowed in the side.

"Leave 'em be, she's just tryin' to scare him... Testin' his stones."

A trial she put him through plenty of times as a teen before he wised up to her nature. She only started taking him seriously as a trainer when he stopped flinching away from her aggressive threat displays, stopped being scared of her. He knows now that she'd never lay a han—tentacle on him to cause harm. She's never hurt a person before (as far as he knows), but he's always held a solid suspicion that if he were ever in real trouble Malamar would not hesitate to send the offenders straight to the morgue.

"A test, huh? Heh. I know he'll get through to her." Guzma crosses his arms with pride. "My boy ain't scared of nothin'."

"He's on the right track, then."

Malamar screeches and Guzma flinches out of his posture. The sounds of socializing Pokémon come to a halt behind them.

Golisopod only swoons. Odd taste, but who is he to criticize anyone for their taste?

Malamar blinks in shock, floating down to a normal level along the way. Golisopod chirps and invites himself closer, and isn't told to scram.

"Bloody hell," he breathes. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Piers almost wishes he was recording this.

Mal gives the unflinching Golisopod a critical look down her beak. Then, after a moment of mutual staring and one more hopeful click from her admirer, she whisks herself away, whizzing around the two trainers to go hunch next to the snoozing Skuntank, back to them all, tentacles bunched close to her body.

It's nothing but a retreat.

Piers bursts into laughter, and all of his Pokémon that aren't Mal perk up at the sound. Obstagoon yaps and barks and even Skuntank's tail starts to wag.

Guzma's never heard such a wonderful sound before in his life. It's chaotic yet melodic, rough but bright, and, if he's gonna be cliche, musical. Must be because of Piers' singing or some shit. That laugh tumbles over his guard and sweeps him right away.

His saving grace comes when Piers gasps and speaks. "Well then! Ain't gonna worry about that!" He tosses his head, swinging his bangs away, and wipes a tear away. "Ahhh, damn, I wish you luck, big guy," he chuckles, flashing a smile that blindsides Guzma along the way. "You'll need it."

Not at all perturbed at being abandoned by his crush, Golisopod chirps and nuzzles up to Piers.

Guzma clears his throat. "Yeah, he really likes her. Likes you too, apparently."

"Aww, does he?" Piers croons and pets Gol's chin, and Gol returns the affection with a nuzzle. The fuck? "I like you too, big guy."

Gol's only ever been that touchy to him before, so he's more than a little shocked. Not jealous or anything, just surprised. He was hoping Piers passed Gol's test of approval, but he didn't just pass, he scored some hidden extra credit points along the way.

...Alright, maybe he's a _little_ jealous.

He reaches into the pocket of his baggy pants and pulls out Gol's pokeball. "I dunno 'bout you, but I'm starvin'. Let's get some grub."

The rest of the gang must have ate already. Didn't save any of Nanu's food for them. But that's okay, as long as the kids ate, he'll be alright. Guzma doesn't mind skipping a meal here and there, the kids are and always will be his first priority.

Where the heck are those brats, anyways? They've been hella scarce lately.

"Ugh, good idea, now that you mention it..."

Before Guzma can suggest otherwise, Piers starts calling his team back. He was gonna suggest that they leave their Pokémon out to hang, but it's understandable if Piers doesn't wanna let them out of his sight anymore after what happened yesterday.

"Yo, where ya goin'?" he calls when Piers starts walking back towards the Shady House.

"...Inside?"

"Thought ya wanted ta eat. Let's get outta here and find somethin'."

Piers turns on a heel and marches back up. "Wait, you can let yourself outta here?"

"Uh, yeah? We ain't locked in or anythin'. C'mon."

Piers hurries to follow him. He seems very interested in watching the door open from the inside, and gingerly steps over the threshold to put himself outside of the town.

"So... where to?" Piers squints as they leave the shadows of the Po Town walls. "If you're hungry, I can treat ye again."

"If you're buyin', then yeah, let's go ta Malie."

"All the way back there?" Piers' shoulders slump and he whines. "That's the whole way round the island, innit?"

"Ya gotta head back there anyways ta reach the port, right? This just saves ya the trip."

"Ugh, you're right... Is there really no shorter way to get there? Makin' this trip all the time is gonna kill me."

"Not as far as I know. I'd love a shortcut around here." He shrugs. Maybe that can be a future project for his gang. Linking up the whole island's rim with walkable paths. Po Town's safety takes priority, though.

"Fuck, I'd kill for one. Not lookin' forward to goin' over the sea again..."

He forgot that Piers has the worst seasickness he's ever seen. He kinda feels bad for how nauseous the guy got yesterday, after riding on Gol. They definitely won't go as fast this time. It's the least they can do.

"Say, how often does Nanu make the trek?" Piers asks, eyes following the old man's station as they pass.

"Dunno. He's pretty spry for his age, but I'm not really sure how he does it."

He wonders if the old man and Piers ever got a good chance to talk. They'd probably have a lot to say to each other, considering. "Ya know, ya'd probably get along with him better than I do. Since you're both dark types and all."

At least, he hopes. The old man could use more friends.

Piers rolls his eyes. "Nah, bruv. The two times he escorted me to Po Town were the most awkward times of me life, I swear. Can't get a word in edgewise and he hardly says anythin' at all."

"Hah! He's grumpy as fuck, but a good dude. Likes takin' in strays." Ironic. Team Skull could be considered strays.

He snaps his fingers when he remembers something. "Oh yeah! About gettin' around—Nanu must use a ride pager sometimes. Forgot about them. Never really did like those, I don't use 'em."

He's so used to walking everywhere that other modes of transport slip his mind. Walking's pretty nice, too. Gives lots of opportunities to clear his head, and god knows he needs as much of that as he can get.

"...Guzma?"

He grunts.

"What's a ride pager?" Piers' voice is airy and light.

"Uh... these little things people use to get around faster. Calls a Pokémon you can ride. There's a lotta different ones, like a Mudsdale, a Machamp, even a Charizard one, too, if ya gotta fly."

A hand claps onto his shoulder with more than just friendly pressure. They both grind to a stop.

"You're tellin' me. That all this time, I didn't have to be takin' those damn ferries everywhere? Or walkin' all these bloody routes on foot? This whole time, another way of gettin' around these islands was available?"

"I forgot they existed! I never use 'em!" He hunches and shrugs the tight touch off his shoulder, face red.

"Now that you remember, tell me how can I get one a them!" Piers groans and drags his forearm across his forehead. "Heat's gonna kill me if I keep this up!"

"I can probably ask Kahuna Hala for one, if ya want." Shiiit, he should have figured Piers would rather take a ride than walk all over the islands with him. "I'm uh, kinda surprised someone didn't give you one already, since you're a celebrity and all."

"'M not a celebrity. Ugh, but my agent did mention wantin' to meet with me sometime early on, maybe he... _Ugh_ , forgot all about that, fuck!" Piers digs his phone out and starts fussing on the screen, probably to text his agent or whoever. See, he is a celebrity. In Alola, at least.

"I see Hala tomorrow, I can ask him. Or maybe ya can try and borrow Nanu's?" he suggests, trying to offer any help he can.

Piers clicks his tongue and shoves the phone back into his pocket. "No. I'd hate to make the old codger sick o' me and stop lettin' me in to your town."

Damn, nothing he's saying is working! Looks like yet another awkward walk. He thought they were through with that.

"But..." Piers' voice takes on a thoughtful tone. "I guess if I ever got blocked from enterin' your town, you could sneak out to see me instead. Like a real bad boy," Piers conspiratorially says. "We could meet in the middle somewhere."

That perks him right back up. "You got it, toots. I'll sneak out and visit ya anywhere, anywhen."

A bright chuckle floats through the air. "Be sure to pack a bag before sneakin' out. None a my togs'll fit you."

"Togs...? Like clothes?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry. None a' my clothes fit you. I might be taller but you're too big."

"Psh, so? Ya should totally loan me a shirt. Make sure it's not one ya'll miss, it'll be ruined just by bein' with me." He tends to ruin most things he touches.

A sharp elbow jostles his side. "I ain't lettin' you wear my shirts just so you can flex and tear 'em to shreds."

Not what he meant by ruin, but hey, he'll take it.

"Aw, c'mon. I know ya wanna see that." He links his hands behind his head and puffs out his chest for show. "Gun show's open for everybody."

"No!" Piers laughs. "I've only got so many clothes packed with me!"

"Come on, just one?" He drops his arms and tries some puppy eyes. They never work on anyone, but then again, no one really gets to see him from above. "Pretty please, princess?"

Piers stiffly leans away, face pink from either the sun or something else. "...Fine. One. Only because it's worth seein' my new mate in a way that don' make me lug my sorry self across the sea."

It worked! Damn, that's the first time anyone's fell for his—

Wait.

New... mate? Piers has dropped that word pretty often, but he never thought anything of it before. The way Piers says it now makes something click. _My_ new mate, he said. Like... like friend. Has that word meant _friend_ this whole time? When was the first time Piers used it? Shit, he can't remember. Some time yesterday morning...

"Y-Yeah... Thanks." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious.

They cross into the meadow. The flowers are as bright and beautiful as always, even moreso than yesterday since there's barely any mist left in the midday.

"D'you really think sneakin' out to me would be hard for you? I'd hate for you to get bothered by any fans."

"Why would they wanna bother me?"

People avoid him whenever possible.

"Fans can get pretty obsessive, I've found." A shudder rattles Piers' shoulders. "They've done some crazy shite in other regions."

Obsessive fans, sounds like a pain in the ass. "Nah, won't be bothered. I'm used ta crazy people." The image of a gentle smile, pearly and perfect, flashes in his mind's eye. He shakes his head and pushes his hand into his hair. "Too bad ya don't have a wall around the resort. You can just chill in Po Town if ya ever need ta get away from people. Gate's here to protect us. I'll unlock it for ya anytime."

"You've had a key this whole—? Wait. Protect you? From who? No one's out to harm you or the kids, are they?" Piers asks a little desperately.

Ah, shit. He didn't mean to bring this up.

"It's really not the nicest topic. Ya sure ya wanna know?"

Piers only nods. Guzma eyes the strange look on his face. Not often that people are all that worried for them, not to this outward degree.

"A'ight. You asked." He heaves a sigh. "Some of the kids' parents would come and try ta take 'em back. You already know we're like family. I'd do anything for those brats. Even back when we were causing trouble, I'd stick my neck out for 'em."

His hand accidentally brushes against Piers'. When did they start walking so close?

"Most of these kids are runaways. Lots had real shitty parents, who didn't like that I'd taken their kids in. So, they'd come try to get them back. But I wouldn't let 'em." He scowls. "We used ta keep the gate open a lot of the time, but after someone's dad snuck in, tryin' ta drag him out, we started keepin' it shut twenty-four seven."

The kid's yelling woke up everyone in Po Town. When he came out, the kid was beat up pretty bad from struggling to stay, good for nothing dad trying to drag him out by the arm. He remembers the red clouding his vision at the sight. Barely knows how he didn't kill the guy back then.

"Obviously I beat the shit outta the dude. The parents would try to get Nanu to get their kids back, but I'd have every kid meet with Nanu and tell him their story before the parents were allowed ta come any closer. As Kahuna, he's allowed to intervene like that."

"Shit..." Piers shakes his head in incredulity. "That's terrifyin' that their parents would try and steal 'em back like that... You're amazin' for stickin' up for 'em."

The praise tries sticking to him, but he brushes it off with a shrug. "Someone has ta do somethin' for those kids. I'll gladly take runaways. Everyone deserves a place to run to where they don't gotta run no more."

Piers shivers against the sun. Powerful words... He has an even deeper appreciation for what Guzma does for those kids now. Not only is he housing them, he's willing to fight for them as well.

He's glad for those kids. And envies them.

Years and years ago, if he could have run away from home...

"If my da came for me like that, I'd be terrified..." Piers mumbles to himself.

He never ran away. He stayed, more or less, because at the time, during the worst of it, he never saw things as... _that_ bad.

_My little angel. Stay with me, won't you?_

From a pretty young age, he grew up considering certain things to be normal. Trusted his parents, because why would they ever want to harm him? For a long time, far too long, he happily lived his sheltered little life. Took too many years until he realized that his home life wasn't normal, but even then, how could he up and run away when he barely knew what normal was?

And of course, how could he leave once he had Marnie to look after. Their dad never laid a hand on her, thank _fucking_ god _,_ but Piers still wanted to— _had_ to watch after her and protect her, just in case.

Once their parents were both out of the picture, any dreams he had of fleeing died with them. He had Marnie, had to care for her, raise her on his own. No, not entirely on his own, he had help, he shouldn't discredit the little things Spikemuth did for him. Still does for him. Granting him corners to hide in, dark places to lurk where no prying eyes could pin him down, passing bits and pieces under the table to the young man with a baby sister and no mum or da to take any weight off his shoulders.

If only he let Spikemuth reach him sooner.

He'd say the struggle wasn't worth suffering through, would have settled for far, far less help, if Marnie didn't depend on him doing well. Supporting her required that he go above and beyond what he would have considered 'enough' if he were by himself, and he thinks that's the only reason he's made it this far at all.

Everything turned out fine in the end, for him at least. Under a loose definition of 'fine.' He came out intact physically, and sure, he's got a few issues scarring his head and heart up, but it's not like he can't function. Relationships might be difficult in some aspects, but he's found a way to succeed even there, with a best friend who miraculously cares about him despite his bushels of flaws.

So, yeah... He got out alright. Can't say the same for Spikemuth in general. He let the whole place down, couldn't do right by the hometown he loved so much that saved him over and over again. Years of failures, years of struggle... Couldn't bail water fast enough to save the sinking ship.

Marnie will be a better captain than he ever was.

Now though, he's finally in a position to pay Spikemuth back and support it. After all this touring, he hopes to bring enough attention to the town that she shows up on more maps. Draws more visitors, becomes more lively, holds more hopes. He wants Spikemuth to blossom into what it used to be, to shed its withered shell and step into a new era.

One day he knows that home will be a town worthy of Marnie. It was worthy of him so long ago, but he never amounted to much. He'd love nothing more than for his baby sister to see what Spikemuth is like in its full, riotous glory.

They haven't sunk so far down that they can't claw their way back up. Piers has been kicked every way a man can be kicked, but like hell has he ever stayed down, no matter how tempting it was some days to curl up and stop trying. He always found reasons to get back up. A whole lot of it was raw spite, not wanting to make Marnie suffer, and the bitter knowledge that if he ever gave up and stopped struggling then he'd see his father in hell decades sooner, which always did the trick to make him grimace, dust himself off, and march right back into fire.

Piers has been silent for about a minute now. Lost in thought with his brows furrowed and pace slowed. Something dark must be on his mind.

Guzma wishes he could throw an arm around the guys shoulder, but that'd just be awkward while they're both walking. Going for the waist, as tempting as it is, feels inappropriate. He doesn't know what else he could do to comfort the man, except...

He checks over his shoulder. There's no one else around other than them, sooo...

He grabs the hand dangling next to him and intertwines their fingers.

How is Piers so cold despite the heat? Guzma gives the thin hand a squeeze, trying to help his friend feel better. He's not really good at this kind of shit, but he's trying his best. They're friends after all, and they can't be _hoa pili_ if he stands around doing nothing when Piers is obviously feeling bad.

Piers' heart jumps out of his chest at the contact. No, more like it's been pounding this whole time and he only now noticed.

Guzma just... oh. Their hands.

_Great going, gave him a reason to worry about you. Like you're a sorry little kid needing shelter._

_(You were one, though. That's what was just on your mind, wasn't it?)_

_Shut up. Too long ago for it to matter now._

"Sorry. I- I didn' mean to bring anythin' up." God, his heart is going to give out with how hard it's beating. The hand-holding has nothing to do with it. It's all old, clingy memories, churning up anxiety that he does _not_ need right now, in the middle of the day, when nothing bad has even happened.

His hand is squeezed. Strong grip. "It's okay, man. If I were there, and ya _did_ run away, I'd protect ya. I'd let ya chill at my place as much as ya needed."

The words are only words, but they soothe over some part of him he didn't know needed soothing. Heat floods his face and he ducks his head to hide. Guzma's grip is solid, warm, and rough, a sun-heated rock around his flimsy self. Piers tightens his hand to cling to the solidity of it, lets it ground him.

"Thank you..." is all he can say, weak and barely audible.

A round shoulder bumps against his arm. "Ya don't have ta tell me what happened with ya, but if you wanna, I'll listen. Ya listened ta my shit after all."

Tell... Guzma? He's never told anyone his full story before. Not even Marnie. (God, he'd rather die than let her find out about some things.) Raihan doesn't know much either. He isn't sure how much his best friend's inferred simply by being observant, or how correct Raihan's assumptions may be, because Rai's never asked for him to answer, or commented for him to confirm or correct. Not for lack of interest, but rather excess of caution and respect. Piers appreciates it, but it's also enabled him to keep too many things close to his chest that he probably doesn't have to.

Guzma, though. A fresh face. Someone disconnected from everything about Galar, everything about Piers' life asides from what he decides to share. Nothing he tells Guzma can follow him back home. At the same time, it feels wrong to taint this bright, cheery place with recollections best left in the dark.

He does trust his new friend... It helps that Guzma didn't demand anything. Only offered to listen. And Guzma _did_ open up a fair amount so far...

It would only be fair to open up right back. Just a little. A crack at a time.

But he can't, not now, not here, where it's sunny under a blue sky and they're so exposed out in the beautiful open. Why ruin the atmosphere with the smoke and smog and tar buried in his head.

Piers' chest is tight with nerves, and it's making him hunch worse than usual to try and relieve the tension. 

"Maybe later. I think I can tell you later," Piers says with forced conviction, to convince himself that what he says will come true.

The hand laced around his squeezes again.

"No rush. Take your time, princess." Guzma sounds so sincere, even with that stupid nickname in his mouth. The way he says it here makes it sound almost affectionate.

His grip on Guzma's hand is tighter than before, he notices. He's practically squeezing it to death. Piers slackens his vice grip and apologetically pulls his hand free to spare his friend the discomfort.

"Thanks," he tentatively offers, face still hot. "For... for not pushin'. I appreciate it."

"No problem." Guzma responds with a shrug. He wasn't expecting Piers to pull away so soon. He was going to let go when they approached Malie. Or when someone showed up on the road. But that's fine.

_He probably felt awkward that I grabbed his hand. Maybe I shouldn't have touched him out of nowhere like that, nobody likes being grabbed at random. I should apologize too, fuck._

"Sorry," he forces.

Piers slows down again. "Sorry for what?"

"For... fuck." He looks off to the side as heat rises to his face. He's itching to put his hood up or his sunglasses down. "For takin' your hand like that. I wasn't thinkin', I won't do it again."

"Oh, that? Don't be sorry. I didn' mind it." Piers speeds back up to his normal pace.

 _Didn't mind it_ doesn't mean it was okay.

"You can say if ya didn't like it. I won't be offended."

"No, no, it helped. I did like it."

"Oh."

Should... should he take it again, then? Piers still looks nervous, walking stiff like a knife is pressed into his back. What even happened to him? Did his dad beat him too?

Something dark twists in Guzma's gut.

Fuck it. He grabs for that tense hand again, and this time it's Piers who locks their fingers together.

They walk like that for a while. Even after Piers eventually relaxes, and conversation becomes casual and carefree once more, neither pull away. Not until the beach forces them to.

He wishes they walked a little slower.

. . .

Malie welcomes them with far less crowded streets than yesterday. Piers mentions wanting sushi again, so Guzma angles them towards High Roller once more.

"When I get money, I'm payin' ya back for all this. I'll take ya somewhere nice."

_I gotta start applyin' to places. No one's gonna hire me, but I might as well try._

"Oh, don't be mithered 'bout payin' me back." Piers waves off his offer. "I ain't snide."

The fuck.

"Snide? What's that mean?"

"Here?" Piers takes a moment to answer and shrugs with an edge of a smirk. "Stingy with me dosh is wha' it means."

"The _fuck_ is dosh?"

Piers laughs. "Means don't worry 'bout payin' me back!"

He blushes to his neck while Piers gets over himself. Guy's got a nice laugh, sue him. "Yeah, well... I still wanna."

"Ahhh, sorry mate." Piers chuckles and shakes his head. "I try to keep in mind I ain't chattin' with Muvvies. Spikemuth folk," he clarifies, _for once._ "Yer makin' me slip."

At least someone's feeling better. Guzma's glad for it, but he can't easily shake the discomfort of not knowing what the hell Piers is talking about. Language barriers are a bitch. For all he knows _slip_ is some weird Galarian slang too.

"In a good way or what?"

"We're chummy, that's all. I can let me hair down around you." The smile on Piers' face is bright and distracting.

"Chummy…?" Does that mean what he thinks it means?"Like, aikāne?"

Piers reins in his cheer and clears his throat. "Depends. Does that mean friends?"

"Yeah. 'S exactly what it means. _Ka'u aikāne_ means _my friend._ "

They've already hashed over this shit last night. Friendship. But saying it out loud, trading slang and language back and forth the morning after, makes this shit way more real. Things are turning up after all.

The word combination pings Piers' memory and the proper words replay in his head, fresh from just this morning, whispered in assumed secret but not safe from his sharp ears.

_Ka'u hale aikāne._

Not quite a match to what he just heard, _hale_ is still a mystery. But he can't imagine Guzma putting any derogatory word in between 'my' and 'friend...' It's nothing to be concerned with.

"Then, yeah. Exactly."

A signature chime sounds from his pocket, the bright chirp of a Morpeko's greeting. His phone is out of his pocket in a flash, reflecting his eager eyes for a split second before it's unlocked to show his texts.

A picture! Piers' thumb taps the screen to pull it up bigger, and he instantly glows with brotherly pride.

Marnie and his old— _her_ current—Gym Trainers, taking a proud selfie at one end of the Spikemuth Gym. In the background are several trainers fresh out of a loss. Even blurred, he can tell they're not from Spikemuth, and it's the off season from the Gym Challenge, meaning trainers actually came all the way to their town just to test themselves against Spikemuth's new Leader.

Marnie's face is surface-neutral, but her big brother can always spot even the slightest signs of her happiness and pride. She deserves to feel proud of herself!   
  


**Marnie:** We took down one each.  
  
**Piers:** doin amazing!! im so proud of you marnie  
  
**Marnie:** Just doin my job.  
  
**Piers:** a crackin good one id say  
  
**Piers:** whered they come from? up the block?  
  
**Marnie:** Farther than that.

  
Farther than Hammerlocke?   
  


**Piers:** chester?  
  
**Marnie:** Further.  
  
**Piers:** cmon marn, suspense is killin me  
  
**Marnie:** Try Ballonlea.

  
He swears out loud. All the way from Ballonlea! Those kids came all that way just to challenge his little sister on her home turf! 

"Who's that?" 

"Marnie." A smile spreads across his face just from saying her name. "My little sister." 

He doesn't take his eyes off his phone as they walk.   
  


**Marnie:** Before you start gettin embarrassin, how's Alola treatin you?  
  
**Piers:** is praising the best little sister in the world considered embarrassin? citation needed sis  
  
**Marnie:** Here's your citation: Because I said so.  
  
**Piers:** who co-authored your research paper  
  
**Piers:** hopper?  
  
**Marnie:** It was an independent study. Now tell me how Alola is already!

  
"You have a sister? So do I, kinda. But tell me about yours." Guzma may just be making conversation, but regardless, Piers lights right up and gushes away. 

"She's my world. Music falls right after her, she's always been my top priority. Pretty often I'd skive obligations 'cause I heard she was battlin' someone and had to go watch. Even dates, which got me slapped more'n once," he shamelessly admits. "It was worth it though. I'd never dream of missin' a single moment of her growin' up, and she's grown so much! She's gonna be a far greater Gym Leader'n I ever was."   
  


**Piers:** sunny n hot. beautiful scenery. nice people  
  
**Marnie:** It's treatin you well then?  
  
**Piers:** id say so yeah  
  
**Piers:** there were some minor hitches but it's all good now  
  
**Marnie:** Good. You're finally taking a real vacation. You deserve it.  
  
**Piers:** who cares about what ive been doin. tell me more about how home's been. you eatin well?

It's a little awkward walking next to someone so absorbed with texting, but Piers looks so happy to chat with his sister that it's not so bad. Guy obviously loves her more than anything. It's nice to see a good example of an actual supportive, loving family. Piers puts her before anything else, including—

"Hold up, you even blew off dates?"

Piers didn't sound remotely sorry for that. Maybe he's the type to not take romance that seriously. Not that it's any of Guzma's concern.

Piers doesn't miss a beat, painted thumbnails tapping a mile a minute against the glass as he chatters. "Yeah. I'd much rather be a good brother than a good boyfriend if I had to pick between the two. Gave up the whole datin' scene pretty quick, in the end. Had no time for romance back then. Sadly."

Those last three words are the most important. _Back then. Sadly._

Implying things have changed. Does the rockstar have time for romance now? Not even _now_ now, just like, a general 'now.' Now that he's retired from being Gym Leader, and now that his sister seems sorta independent, based on what it sounds like. Is being a brother still Piers' top priority?

If, hypothetically, Piers started dating again, would he devote the time and attention his partner needed to be happy? Fuck, but that depends on whether the singer's actually single. Might not be. Look at the guy, who wouldn't want a piece.

"That's, uh. That's rough." Their walking pace has slowed thanks to Piers focusing so hard on texting. Sushi High Roller is still a couple blocks away.

"Eh, I don't regret it. Keepin' my priorities straight got me to where I am today." Piers holds his phone up for quick picture of the street they're walking down. "Free as a bird, comparatively."

"Free, huh..." That can't mean single. Can't. No, godammit, why does he even care? This isn't any of his business!

Whatever text the big brother got in response to the photo of Malie's streets is enough to make him hide his pretty smile by biting his knuckle. It'll probably leave a temporary mark on his hand.

His cold, bony, holdable hand that fits so well inside his own.

Okay, fuck it. Now he's wondering if Piers would ever go on a date with him. If the rockstar could be asked out, and say yes, and go, with him, Guzma, on a date.

Dating...

Something cold crawls up the back of his neck. Feels like ages have passed since his last—and only—'relationship.' At the same time, it's never really left him. He doesn't know a thing about what other relationships could be like, he's only had the one, and it was fucked to hell.

He can only imagine how things could be with someone else. Whatever he had with Lusamine wasn't... it was just fucked up, okay? His only experience with normal relationships is what he's seen from other people. Holding hands and kissing and going on dates and being sappy and gross and shit. Never shutting up about your partner. Being proud of who you're with... That one kinda stings to think about. Lusamine never wanted to be seen with him, ever.

And here Piers is, sticking his middle finger up at the idea of pretending he doesn't know him. Piers doesn't care about being seen with him, or about people finding out about their relationship.

Their, uh. Platonic relationship. Because they're friends. Nothing more than that.

Hypothetically though, what would dating Piers even be like. Musicians are naturally romantic, aren't they? Or does Piers romance people in less conventional ways? Does Piers prefer to be approached or does he do all the approaching?

Nah, something tells him that if anyone wanted to get with a babe like Piers, they'd have to make the first move... He's kinda hoping Piers might be an initiative-taker. Usually he's the one to shoot his shot. Not that anyone's ever said yes to him before. And not that he's asked that many people, he's always been busy caring for his gang and his reputation precedes him by a mile. Fuck, Piers would probably, definitely, turn him down no matter what. As a sexy rockstar, Piers has tons of options that are more attractive than some small-time thug from a small-time region.

_Face it. Ya got no chance. Barely deserve somethin' that nice anyways..._

Doesn't stop him from daydreaming, though. There's no harm in keeping things in his head.

Couldn't be any harm in... trying to shoot his shot, either. He could step it up and just ask Piers out. Get it over with, see what happens. Either Piers says yes or he says nnno, woah, wait, what's he doing? Don't think too fast there, dumbass, no dating's gonna happen. They've hardly become friends! Isn't it a whole thing where friendships have been ruined because one party brought romantic shit into it? He wouldn't even know what to do if he did score a date. He's never been on one before, how fucking sad is that? There's notches on his belt, but flowers in his pocket? Hell no. He's a fucking romance virgin. Not attractive at all at his age. Yeah, there's no way Piers would ever say yes.

...But maybe once they know each other more...

Feelings can change, that's all he's saying.

After the concert would be a good time to reassess all this, see if he still has thoughts about taking things further than friendship. And to give Piers more time to get to know him, see his good sides (the few that he has). He can _feel_ a good relationship starting to grow, not even specific to romance or anything. Maybe something more will come of it, maybe not. More than likely not. Impossible to tell on their second day of knowing each other.

Waiting it is.

He's honestly impressed with his foresight here. If he was still his old self he probably would have demanded Piers go on a date with him the moment the idea crossed his mind, maybe even battled him for it, but that ain't him anymore. He's better than that now.

Still tempting to try and satisfy his curiosity, get some questions answered that he asked himself earlier. There can't be any harm in asking general questions. It'll help them get to know each other a little more. As friends.

He sucks air between his teeth as a precursor. "Sooo... are ya seein' anyone right now? At all? Since you're free now, you said."

Piers looks up from his phone and arches a brow. "Sorry?"

Shit. Too blunt.

He raises his hands like he dropped something on purpose. "Hey, I'm just curious. Like, yer pretty hot, and yer a _musician._ People love that shit. I'd be surprised if ya weren't taken already."

To his surprise, Piers barks a disbelieving laugh. "Me? Oh, god no. I wasn' nearly as popular back home as you seem to think."

What! There's no way. Piers is gorgeous, talented, kind as hell. Who wouldn't sweep him up? There's gotta be more to it than that, he's gotta be downplaying himself somehow.

"Psh, whaaat? I don't believe that. No way are ya single."

"Yes way!" A light blush creeps up Piers' face. "I'm no Casanova. The opposite, more like."

"Come on, not even any crushes on ya? No one chasin' or waitin' for ya back home?"

The phone lowers further. "No, no, I..." Piers' stride hesitates. "I guess—no, that doesn't count."

Now things are getting juicy.

"Promise I won't share anythin' ya tell me." He draws an X over his chest. "Cross my heart, princess."

Piers shoves his phone into his pocket with a blush. "After we have our food. Gossipin' on an empty stomach is bad for ya."

. . .

The staff of High Roller seem less surprised to see him this time. They aren't nearly as rude, either. Must be because of Piers.

When they finally get seated and order their food (from a different waitress this time, who keeps any comments she has to herself), he finally has the opportunity to ask again. No way is he letting Piers get away with putting this off for too long.

"No one back home, is what ya said? Unless ya do count whoever ya said doesn't."

"What? Oh." Piers suddenly hunches, bangs slipping forward to hide even more of his face. "Um... It's not, uh..."

He's nervous talking about it. Big hint that maybe he has a crush on someone back in Galar...

That could be why he said it 'doesn't count.' It's not someone else pining and waiting, it's _him._ Maybe they haven't made it official, or Piers didn't confess his true feelings yet. If that's the case, there go Guzma's chances... Probably for the best that he doesn't get his hopes up.

"Well, judgin' by yer reaction, there's someone that catches yer eye, right?" His elbow thunks on the table harder than intended.

"N-No! Nothin' like that. I just..." Piers squirms and tangles a finger into the ring on his choker. "I was just thinkin' of my best mate back home. He said he's waitin' fer me. And the only reason we're friends is 'cause he chased me. That's why he sort of fits the bill. But not really, 'cause we ain't romantic." Piers sinks further into the chair, face pink and eyes on the table. "He's the closest I have to somethin' like that, which is why he came to mind."

Oh, a best friend, huh? Like him and Plumeria, but Piers and this guy sound suspiciously close. Especially since, when asked about dating and relationships, that guy came to mind. They must be _veeery_ close indeed.

Hidden romantic tension, that neither of them have admitted yet, maybe?

"Sure ya don't like him? Sounds ta me like there might be somethin' goin' on there."

Piers pulls his hand free from his choker and pushes himself up, sitting straighter with a scowl whose effect is kinda ruined by the blush. "There's not. Now, I won't say we're _'just'_ friends, 'cause that's devaluin' and ain't fair to us. Him and I are best mates. I can say I love 'im but there's no romantic interest between either of us, end of story."

Piers glares like he's daring Guzma to challenge what he said. Not worth it, even if Guzma thinks some of what he said is Tauros shit. There's definitely something important between Piers and whoever. Whether it's romantic or not. Guzma will just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it again.

He waves his hand and slumps back into his seat. "A'ight. Fair enough."

He'll just have to see where the wind takes them in this. Doesn't mean he has to be without a sail, though. The wind can blow in any direction it pleases, and he can use it to his advantage whenever it ain't blowing against him. He's happy with being friends, but the knowledge that Piers, kind and understanding and hella fucking hot, is single... hoo. He can't do nothing with that information.

Within the small breather of the waitress bringing their food, he musters the courage to ask.

"Hey, why don't we take a stroll around Malie Garden after this? Been a while since I was there. Great tourist spot, you'll see tons of Alolan Pokémon."

Cool, casual. Perfectly smooth. He's still got some game, ain't no thing. He can play it off as friendly if Piers wants to see it as friendly. ...If Piers even heard what he said. Guy looks seriously lost in thought.

_Absolutely nothin' between me 'n Rai. We're mates, that's all. Yeah, we do some couple-y things in private, but... he's just touchy and I don't mind it. Just friendly intimacy, I like it too. And even if Rai showed any interest in romance, which he doesn't, hasn't as long as I've known him, he certainly wouldn't go for me. He could do so much better than me._

Guzma's offer nearly flies right over his head, but he catches it before it's gone.

Garden stroll?

He looks up from Guzma's plate of sushi. If he didn't know better, he'd say that sounded a lot like a date.

Come to think of it, Guzma has been asking some oddly personal questions today. He'd be willing to write it off as idle curiosity, if not for the barrage of relationship-related queries. Whether he's single, whether he's crushing on anyone, whether or not his best friend is actually something else too. Almost like Guzma's... interested.

No, there's no way. Guzma doesn't seem willing to start something when Piers will be out of Alola in just a week, he said as much last night.

He shouldn't read too deeply into this conversation, nor into Guzma's intentions about asking him on a walk through the gardens. There's no way it's a date.

_(Would you say yes if it was?)_

_Shut up. That's irrelevant._

Still, he procrastinates on giving his yes.

"Didn' ya say last night that you didn't wanna hang out anywhere public?"

"This is public, ain't it?" Guzma shrugs. "'Sides, the garden is huge. It's way more private than this is."

Talking about privacy only makes it sound more like a date. Which it's not. He's just going to be shown around a nice tourist spot.

Guzma finally takes his first bite. Piers takes his chopsticks up and follows suit. He can't spare the focus to enjoy the flavor. There's no reason he can't say yes. Just hurry up and agree before it gets weird that he took so long.

"...Can't say n—"

"PIERS! Hey, how crazy to run into you here!" A feminine voice cuts through the air of the restaurant. The sushi suspended by his chopsticks plops back to his plate.

Instinct urges him to keep his head down, but if his name was shouted, he's already been spotted. Not five seconds pass before a dark blurred reflection encroaches the table. A reluctant glance up reveals a familiar face.

"Oh. Fancy seein' you here, er..." It's one of the girls from the group who dragged him around yesterday evening. He can't remember her name at all and he feels a bit awful for it.

"Lanie," she eagerly supplies.

"Lanie. What are you doin' on Ula'Ula?" He sounds too stiff to be congenial, but she either doesn't notice or doesn't mind.

Please let this end quickly, he's so bad at fan interactions and he's in the middle of eating, for god's sakes. Approaching him alone on the street is one thing, but while he's out to lunch with a friend? That's got to be crossing some sort of line.

The intruder giggles and rocks backward and forward on her feet, pivoting at the hips. "I could ask you the same thing, Piers. Did you sleep well? You left us so early last night," she says with a pout.

He glances at Guzma. She's totally ignoring the Skull boss's presence. Guiltily, he wishes he had the same privilege.

"...Yeah, I slept amazin'. You er... here for lunch?"

"Oh, something like that. So hey! Since you liked being shown around so much yesterday, I was thinkinggg.... if you'd maybe wanna go see the Malie Garden with me? It's _great_ for tourists _and_ trainers, and you're both! After you're done eating, obviously!"

Ah. Call that a conflict of interest on multiple fronts.

He's got to turn her down somehow. Honesty might get this over with fastest. Well... partial honesty. Keeping up a pleasant facade calls for some tiny white lies, but lying for politeness's sake is practically a Galarian sport. One he finds exhausting as a true Spikemuth uncouth does, but what else can he do?

"That sounds lovely," ten points for the classic setup, "but I'm afraid I've got plans to see it with someone else," he reveals as casually as he can. Add a sorry look to top it off. Real shame, all this. Real shame.

Under the table, he's gripping his knee like it's going to pop off.

Lanie's face falls—plummets, really—and Piers shifts in his seat, prickled by awkwardness. Maybe he doesn't look sorry enough. He certainly won't if he starts tapping his fingers on the table like he wants.

Dealing with fans is so hard... He can't give them everything they want for the sake of his own time and sanity, but when he says no to preserve himself, they get so upset. The hell is he supposed to do? Avoid them to begin with, ideally.

"Oh... With one of my other friends? We can meet them there if you're done eating!" Lanie tries to recover. Persistent.

"No, er..." He'll be vague, so as not to give Guzma away. "I'm goin' with—"

"With _me._ " Guzma glares. "And by the way, we ain't finished eatin'. We just got our food, so we're busy."

Oh thank god, Guzma's taking over. Piers slumps in relief, more than happy to let his friend take the lead. Social savior.

Like hell is he gonna let Piers get kidnapped by someone he _clearly_ doesn't want anything to do with. Piers is all his right now.

The Lanie chick gapes like a beached Magikarp, staring like she's never seen someone so audacious before in her life.

_"You?"_

"Yeah, 's right." He slings an arm over the back of his chair, projecting confidence like the unflappable badass he is. "Me. Now leave us alone so we can finish our lunch."

Across from him, Piers hunches like he wants to dissolve away. Good thing Guzma's got his back.

The girl looks tongue-tied as she processes the mind-boggling concept of Guzma taking the singer to the garden. Doesn't look like she's about to leave.

How far he should take this, he wonders... He's got a couple plans, inspired by recent conversation, but he'll wait until Piers says something first. If the girl doesn't piss off after he says his piece, Guzma will execute.

Lanie finds her voice again. "But... why?" She furrows her brows. "Why you?"

Piers sits straighter. "Guzma's been a great guide," he throws in. "He's shown me around a good deal already."

The affronted girl rounds on Piers, who immediately leans away. It's almost funny how much his face screams _save me._ What's not funny is how Lanie's interpreting who he wants to be saved from.

"You shouldn't hang out with _him_ , Piers. I so can't believe no one warned you until now, but he's seriously bad news! Him _and_ his gang! I bet he's gonna try and steal your Poké—"

"Lanie," Piers swiftly interjects. Guzma drops his eyes to the table, suddenly unable to meet any eyes while this topic is active. "I told you last night, Guzma helped me get them _back._ He _helped_ me."

Now Piers has _his_ back? This is just weird. He's not used to anyone covering for him to any extent. He shifts in his seat.

"Well—he's just trying to gain your trust or something. He knows you're famous, what if he just wants your money?"

That's bullshit! Guzma's head whips around to glare. In the corner of his eye, Piers drops his jaw and stares at her, aghast.

 _Now_ he's going to enact his plan. If she's gonna spout shit like that then it's time to bring out the big guns.

"Listen, _Lanie_ ," he jeers. "I didn't know who the fuck he was until yesterday. Had no idea the guy was famous, nor do I give a fuck now that I do know. I don't want his _money._ " He leaves her a sneer and looks to Piers with a brand new smile. "But there _is_ somethin' here that I want."

He slides his hand across the table, takes Piers' tense hand in his, and gives it a double-duty squeeze, meant to show off to the nuisance as well as comfort his 'date.'

"Now. Would you leave us alone so we can continue our date? You're ruinin' it."

He's still smiling. He's enjoying both their reactions so much. Lanie looks offended. Like Guzma slapped her or insulted her personally. And hell, if she's insulted because she thinks he's taking something she had a claim to, then she should feel insulted. Piers isn't hers.

_Not really mine either. This is just for his sake._

He gives Piers' hand another squeeze.

A date... Guzma's just throwing a lie around to shake her off, is that it? Yeah?

He swallows and looks down. The warm, rough pressure on his hand keeps his thoughts from coalescing into coherence.

"You're on a _date?_ " Lanie's gasp reminds him he shouldn't stay so silent. Play along!

"I, er..." He stammers, completely thrown and more than a little pink. His hand tenses under Guzma's and earns another comforting squeeze that only makes his face heat another few degrees.

Lanie clings to his confusion and rounds on Guzma again. "Oh my god. Ohhh my god, stop joking, Piers would never go for a guy like you! He has way better taste!" she hisses.

He's offended on Guzma's behalf. "What? Come on, I have _great_ —"

"Then he's not as great as you think he is, Piers. My little siblings still ask me questions I don't have the heart to answer truthfully, all thanks to him. Do you even _know_ what he did? What happened to those Pokémon?"

Guzma flinches as if cut.

Something snaps.

Before it can fly loose, Piers grabs hold of his senses and bites his tongue, reins in the venom. Yelling will serve no one. He takes a deep breath and turns in his seat to fully face her. She seems to calm down slightly once she has his full attention.

He hates to talk about Guzma like he isn't there, but his hands are tied. He has to get through to her somehow so she'll hurry up and leave them be.

"Lanie. It's alright. I'm sure I don't know everythin' there is to know about him, but I _have_ heard some of the stories. He's not pullin' any wool over my eyes from what I know. And!" He speeds up before she can cut him off. "I'll find out on my own if he really is _._ I'm here in Alola to give you guys an amazin' show, take your mind off everythin' else in the moment, and nothin', nobody, is gonna stop me from doin' that. He can't hurt me," he reassures in the smoothest voice he has, with the warmest smile he can muster.

It must be warm enough, because her tension fades. "Oh... A-As long as you're not in the dark about everything he did..."

"I'm not," he reassures through lying teeth. "I'm glad you're so worried for me, but really, it's alright. I'm a grown man, I can watch me own back."

She takes a long moment to absorb that and come to terms with it. Please, please work...

"O...Okay. Sorry for yelling when you were trying to eat..."

"It's alright, don't worry about it." Now to get her to leave. At this point he's desperate. "I'll see if I've got any time to hang out with you and your friends later, how's that?"

She finally brightens up. Thank god. "O-Oh, sure! If you really want to!"

"Of course!" he lies with a smile. He'll see if he has time alright, and will tragically learn that he has none. "You're all _very_ fun. Now, if we could...?"

"Oh! Sorry! Yeah, I'll... I'll just go."

"Later, then." He flashes her a final smile, praying that it doesn't have any unintentional edge to it.

As soon as she's gone and the restaurant returns to a normal volume, he pushes his plate aside, slumps forward across the table, and thunks his forehead on the wood. That was _exhausting._ Guzma took some of the conversational load off, but in some aspects it only made things worse.

"Ugh... 'M so tired now..."

"Damn. I was hoping the date thing would work. Ya shoulda played along better" Guzma's attempt at lightening the mood is appreciated despite its ineffectiveness.

"I tried! I wasn' expectin' you to say _that_." He pouts against the table. "Warn me next time someone comes along accusin' you of shite."

'Accusing' makes it sound like Piers doesn't think what she said was true.

Guilt chews the edges of his mind. He's confessed to some of his crimes, crimes that Piers waved off and said weren't important, but stealing Z-Crystals was the least harmful of all the shit he did.

_I gotta come clean. He doesn't know everything about me and I can't hide it anymore. Not when she brought it up like that._

"Hey, uh... She's right, y'know. About me. They're all right." He swallows. "I shouldn't hide it from ya anymore." He shouldn't have let Piers get so close to him without knowing in the first place.

Piers picks his head up and squints up at him, the ends of his bangs pooling around his chin.

"I don't care. She was bein' so rude to you," he says in a hushed tone. "How could she say I have bad taste by datin' you? If I was datin' you I'd have _great_ taste. Seriously," he scoffs.

Guzma can't even feel good about the indirect compliments. Trying to date without Piers knowing everything is laughable. Guzma would feel sick if he tried.

"Because I _am_ bad taste. I've done terrible shit."

Piers isn't listening. He only slouches harder against the table, choker clinking against the wood, and launches into a hushed rant.

"Everyone keeps tellin' me, Guzma this, Guzma that. They keep goin' on about how you've done some terrible thing without actually tellin' me what it is, but from what I've heard, none of it's been all that bad. I'm startin' to think they hate you for no good reason. It's not fair. You've been so good to m—"

His fist slams onto the table, rattling everything on it. Piers jerks upright and stares at him with sudden caution.

"Guzma? Fuck, mate, I get it's frustratin' to be misunderstood, but—"

"No." He grinds his teeth. "You don't understand! I can't keep hidin' shit from you."

Piers doesn't get it. He won't unless Guzma tells him, right here, right now.

"Hidin' _what?_ What the hell is everyone on about? Is there a full story I'm missin'?"

"Look up a woman named Lusamine. She's made the news. I worked for her. Did everythin' she told me. I'd steal Pokémon for her so her company could perform some sick and twisted experiments on them. It was all under the table. She promised me money in exchange and I jumped at the fuckin' chance." His head is lowered so he doesn't have to see Piers' face.

"Some of those Pokémon... didn't make it back to their owners. And it's all my fault. I've got blood on my hands, man. I followed her around like a puppy, went with her on her insane plans and for what? Nothin' but a big pile of mistakes."

His chest clenches with guilt. Even though it's been so long since that disaster happened, thinking about it hurts just as fresh. What stings even more is knowing that Piers has gotta be disgusted with him now. This is what he gets for thinking he could make a real friend without his past shit getting in the way.

The news stuns him. Lusamine? Stolen Pokémon... Experiments. Oh, god, what is he— _That's_ what Nanu meant by 'selling.' Kidnapping and stealing Pokémon to sell to a research facility.

It's possible that Guzma didn't know what they did to the Pokémon at the time. Maybe Guzma didn't _know._ He said he followed her like a puppy, that implies—that means he was naive and didn't know everything, right? Right? He can't be a monster, he can't be, not when he cares so much about his family and carries such guilt over his own past...

The table rattles when Guzma stands up. "I'm the fuck outta here. Don't come see me anymore."

"Guzma?" He snaps back into reality. "Guzma, wait!" He scrambles out of his chair. "Wait, please don't say that!"

He grabs Guzma's arm and slides his touch down until he's grasping the man's calloused hand.

Bloodstained hand. Comforting hand.

"Let go a' me," Guzma growls.

Piers tightens his grip.

"Guzma, stop. Can I please see you again after this? I'll look everythin' up, I'll find everythin' out. And I'll still come see you. I _promise._ " He strengthens his hold with two hands. If he lets go now, he'll lose something important.

People around them are staring, whispering, but he doesn't care, his friend is upset, his friend is trying to lose him. Things were going so well one second, how can they fall apart so fast the next? They're friends, aren't they? Can't they talk about this and work through it? That's how it's supposed to work!

"You really think you can shake me with this? Mate, I—"

Guzma snarls. "Shut up. Don't call me that. "

Piers' jaw works but his brain won't cooperate. Say something! Anything! Stop this, stop Guzma from...

"You shouldn't be friends with someone like me. That chick was right."

He finds his voice after a harsh swallow. "Why is that only your decision? I deserve a choice too, I—"

Guzma rips his hand out of his slackening grasp. "Don't come back here again. Never shoulda tried bein' friends with you..."

Might as well have stabbed him.

The gangster pushes his glasses down and pulls his hood up to hide his face. Piers tries to reach out, but Guzma suddenly seems so far away despite only having taken a single step back.

Slouched, hands in pockets, back too broad and unbreachable for Piers to approach, Guzma stalks away, snapping at a waitress too close to his warpath retreat and sending her skittering back.

All he can do is watch. His begging was useless. Olive branches spat upon. Guzma's gone, and so is the part of him that was building up to something happy.

. . .

 _Two-faced bastard in the mirror_  
_Double sided hypocrite_  
_Serving glittered up sick in a polished tin spoon_  
_With a smile like ~~your~~ ~~my~~ no other_  
_~~And~~ Not a ~~single~~_  
___~~Not ever~~_  
~~_Why did I think I could_~~  
~~_Waste of_~~

Shit. It's shit. Just like the rest of his written garbage.

Piers snarls, scrunches the paper, and lobs the ball over his shoulder. It never hits the ground, because Obstagoon snatches it from the air, gleefully playing catch with his trainer's discarded venting.

The sounds of happy grunting and paper being ripped and chewed into shreds gives Piers some satisfaction amidst his anger. He was never one to eat his feelings; Goony's got that department covered for him.

Pen meets notebook again. Piers digs the tip into the paper and carves into it whatever vitriol bubbles to mind.

He looked it all up. Read everything he could get his hands on. Tabloids, the official Daily Alola, online blogs, ancient Pokégram posts, he found and tore through them _all_ to get the best picture possible of Guzma's crimes and whoever the hell that Lusamine lady was.

> `AETHER FOUNDATION FOUND GUILTY OF HORRENDOUS POKÉMON EXPERIMENTS`

A professional photo of a woman, smiling like she's never had an evil thought in her life.

> `LOCAL THUG COMPLICIT IN ENDANGERING US ALL`

A blurry shot of Guzma. Snarling like an animal.

> `OUR SAVIOR - ALOLA'S NEWEST CHAMPION CRUSHES EVIL TO RETURN PEACE TO REGION`

A child's cheerful face, posing for the camera with her Pokémon surrounding her.

A snarl erupts from Piers' throat and he crumples his paper again. The sound of sharp crunching is sweet music to his ears. How many pages has he filled with shit and ruined so far? He tosses the ball behind him. Goony lunges to catch it and starts gnawing on it right away.

Writing lyrics always helps him sort out his feelings, especially the turbulent and angry ones. He's used to letting his negative emotions flow onto the page like an acrid river, like acid rain or boiling geisers. Cheap spiral notebooks have always been the storm drain to his feelings.

So why isn't it fucking working this time. No matter how much he writes, scrawls, and scratches, the fire in him doesn't falter. Too big an inferno, fueled by streaks of different-flavored gasoline. Disbelief that Guzma would do such terrible things, horror at what that Lusamine did and what she jerked Guzma around to do, but the emotion that trumps all else is fury. Raw, red fury at how Guzma treated him. How Guzma _dared_ to fucking say that they couldn't be friends because of how awful he is.

That fluff-haired son of a bitch backtracked on their promises. Guzma obviously was aware of his own crimes the entire time, but he _still_ said that he and Piers were friends. Then out of nowhere, he takes it all back? Says it can't happen? When _he was the one who met Piers halfway in the first place?_

"I'm going to _fucking_ deck him next time I see his face," Piers growls, dragging a line down the paper like he's trying to make it bleed. "Oh sure, we're friends, let's just open up to each other real easy, ha ha, let me hold your bloody hand we're such good friends, but _oh_ , never _fucking_ mind, I just now decided we can't after all, due to reasons I was fully aware of from the very beginning!"

Piers sardonically shouts a sing-songy mockery of Guzma's voice. At the end of his tirade he slams his hand on the desk and revels in the sting.

Obstagoon rumbles, and soon a cold nose pokes on the back of Pirs' neck. He huffs and slaps his pen down too so he can reach behind him and scratch his friend on the head.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," he grumbles. "I _should_ go talk to him. Give him a piece of my fucking mind after what he did t'me."

Piers suddenly twists in his chair, forgetting all about the scribbled lyrics on the desk of his hotel resort room. He sinks his hands into Goony's cheek fur and leans forward to press their foreheads together.

"I really thought. _Really_ thought that we had somethin' goin'. We got _along._ " His voice roughens. "He loves his family and his town, would do anythin' for 'em. He even thinks that overpowerin' Pokémon ain't needed to have good battles. We tease each other and it's fun, and we bloody well like each other enough, but I guess he had a sudden change of heart," he bitterly anguishes.

Goony licks his chin and prompts a deeper sigh.

"Yeah... I was _happy_ to be friends with him. I thought he was happy too. I wish he never fucking led me on if he was going to say nevermind, fuck off and leave me alone, like a... a fucking backstabbin' _traitor._ "

Obstagoon whines and long claws touch his shoulders. Piers sighs and pulls his head away.

"Sorry. That _was_ a bit melodramatic... I just... _fuck._ I'm bloody pissed but I still want to see him! Am I mad? I must be mad. Off my fucking rocker!"

He rises to his feet and takes another look at the scattered papers on his desk. Not all of them have musical contents. One of them has "FUCK YOU" and variations thereof scrawled on it dozens of times. Another is crosshatched out with angry, aimless scribbles.

He turns around and his gaze skates across the concerning number of ruined, slobbery papers strewn about the fancy carpet.

Why is he trying so hard? He's mental, putting so much emotion and energy into someone who had no problem dropping him like spoiled takeaway. Only known each other two fucking days and their relationship has already gonen rotten.

Goony barks and bumps him with his head. Piers slings an arm around his thick neck and ruffles the beast's fur.

"...You really think so?"

The Obstagoon chuffs and worms away, and starts pawing at his back.

"Yeah... Yeah, why not?"

Why _not_ go see that selfish wanker? Piers' usual coping methods are clearly failing him; he's just as furious as he was in the beginning.

The best thing to do is to march right back to Ula'Ula, lack of ride pager be and long walk be damned, and give that hypocritical cunt a piece of his mind.

He begged Guzma at the restaurant to give him his own choice on the matter of their relationship. Well, he's taking it right now. The choice Piers wants is to tell Guzma to fuck off in his own words, in person.

Maybe he can get Guzma back. Or maybe he'll burn their bridge the rest of the way. Whatever happens, all that matters is Piers gets to have a say in it.

"You're right, Goony. I'm addressin' this at the source. Come on, let's go before it gets dark. Ain't makin' the hike alone again."

* * *

The gates slam closed with a loud metallic clang that alerts all of Team Skull their boss is back. A couple shout hellos, but before long they all sense the dark clouds surrounding their boss and back off. They know he's in one of his moods.

He's desperate to get to his room and have a fucking drink. It's the only thing that reliably helps, make him forget everything. He has no one to open up to. No one to talk to. Plumes is gone, living her best life without him, trying to become a poison trial captain. She was his best friend and now she's gone. All he can do with his woes is keep them bottled up and drown them while they're trapped.

He reaches his room, his sanctuary, tosses everything—his hoodie, glasses, his chain—onto the bed and snatches a bottle off the shelf. He twists the cap off, flicks it somewhere, and drops onto his throne with a hard glare at nothing.

Just him and his drinks and his thoughts. Soon it'll be just him and his drinks, and eventually, no more him, just the drink. Until then he needs to suffer through the process of losing himself, wading through every nasty though that crosses his way.

_Stupid fuckin' bitch._

She ruined his life, ruined his chances at ever being happy. He doesn't deserve being happy. Doesn't deserve new friendships, doesn't deserve Piers. He'd only drag the guy down, ruin that pretty smile, fuck up his life just like he's fucked up so many other people's lives.

He takes a large swig from the bottle and sets it on his bouncing knee as the burn crawls down into his gut. He can't wait for it to kick in. His thoughts are painfully clear.

_Can't blame her for all your problems. Ya did this to yerself, ihu papa'a._

Another drink. It burns, but isn't burning the right things away. He can still hear the voices in his head.

His father's, telling him just how pathetic he is. How much of a mistake he was. How he should have never been born if he couldn't live up to such simple, basic expectations. Be the best or be nothing. Worth nothing. Should never have been born if he was just gonna grow up to be a waste of space.

_Tch. Maybe he was right. Then no one would have anyone ta hate. People would be happier without me around._

Another swig. Two. Bottle's half empty already. He's gonna have a hell of a headache at Hala's tomorrow, but, fuck it. Who cares? Who cares about him? He needs this right now.

A new voice clamors to the top. Too fresh, too real.

_Piers would never go for a guy like you! He has way better taste!_

_He's just trying to gain your trust or something. What if he just wants your money?_

_You shouldn't hang out with him._

_He's bad news._

_I bet he's going to steal your Pokémon._

"Shut UP!" He hurls the bottle, shattering it into a million pieces, liquid splashing and running down the wall. "I can't take this shit anymore!"

He's tired of the whispering and talking. Of people looking at him like he's garbage. He's tired of _everything._ His kids need him, but would anyone else miss him if he just disappeared? No. Nobody wants him around...

_Guzma, with me. You are a sweet boy..._

No. Not her. She doesn't count. She just used him, manipulated him. She didn't really...

_Guzma, dear. I'll get you your own Ultra Beast. Then you'll be able to show everyone just how strong you are._

Stop it.

_Guzma, my sweet. Come with me._

**Stop it!**

_I promise I'll keep you safe... I'll protect you with all my love._

_Ahh, Guzma..._

The throne seems to tilt and he slides out of it, drops to his knees and clutches his hair. Make it stop...

_What a disappointment._

_You couldn't even stop a few children?_

"SHUT UP!" He's pulling his hair like tearing it out will uproot all the bad thoughts along with it.

The room blurs. He's got another bottle, when did that get there? Maybe this one'll shut that bitch up, or make it so he can't understand what she's saying. He never knows which it really is, all that matters is he stops hearing that sickly sweet voice.

One swig after another, killing a line every time. He's almost through with bottle number two when an accent rings rough and twisted through the fog.

_I wanna be your friend!_

This voice hurts so much worse. Too fresh. Too close.

_Favorite color? Mine's magenta._

"Shut up... No..."

_Wish I was there to help you..._

Guzma's got no one to help him. No one but another bottle, another bottle, and yet another one after that.

* * *

It's dim by the time he reaches his destination. The boy at the front gate of Po Town lets him in without a word. It's like fate. Like Guzma is _welcoming_ him to come on in and give him a piece of his mind.

Obstagoon kept him company for the walk but it's time for him to face this alone. He calls him back and marches down the road, heavy boots grinding into the cobble with every step.

The frigid, dreadful air around him as he storms through isn't enough to stop some of the Team Skull from poking out and trying to speak to him.

"Is that—?"

"H-Hey!"

"Piers, wait!"

He ignores them. He's walked too far to be interrupted right before the finish line.

"Dude, hey! Y-You really shouldn't be here! It's dangerous!"

That gets his attention. He stops and whirls to face whoever spoke. "And why's that?"

He recognizes the kid as one of the boys from yesterday. Someone who stole his Pokémon. Not to sell them to be _tested on,_ just stolen to use to catch their own. Petty thievery. Not the same thing Guzma did.

If the theft were in the past, and if _Guzma_ had gotten his hands on Goony or Scrapper or anyone else, Piers might not have ever seen them again.

He smothers the hollow pit in his stomach with more fire, more anger. There's no room for what-if tragedies right now, only the real one that's about to happen as soon as Guzma's neck is within wringing distance.

The boy swallows and looks around for support. "B-... Boss is in one of his moods. He's—he's uh, he just—really shouldn't be bothered right now!" he pleads.

Piers crosses his arms and raises a critical brow. "One of his 'moods?' What's that mean?"

Why do the kids think Guzma shouldn't be approached? Has Guzma ever done anything to them in whatever 'mood' he's in? No, he'd never. Piers shakes his head of those ominous thoughts and starts walking without waiting for an answer. Another teen cuts in front of him with their arms spread and their eyes wide.

A girl pipes up from behind. "He's drinking. Sometimes he gets real mad at stuff and shuts himself in his room and drinks all night. We've tried stopping him before, but he always yells at us to go away, and... he's pretty scary when he's mad."

Everyone nods in unfortunate agreement.

Piers' lip curls and he turns his head to the building where Guzma's apparently holed himself up with alcohol. It's dark and gloomy in the shadow of the high walls surrounding them. Sun sets early here in Po Town. Drinking 'all night' could mean a lot more than it would elsewhere.

His eyes narrow at the empty balcony. "Well I'm not scared. I don't care if he's mad, _I'm_ mad. At what _he_ did!"

The kids surge in protest. "No, don't blame him!"

He can barely process their sudden clamor.

"He did it for us, it was Lusamine's—"

"We did the stealin', be mad at us!"

"Wha—I'm not pissed off at him for _that!_ " He snaps and catches a flinch that cools his head. He reins in his ire enough to speak more calmly to the frenzied kids. They don't deserve any of his frustration, especially when they're already so tense thanks to their boss's current state.

"I don't care about past shite right now, an' I'm not gonna be mad at any o' you fer it either. This is about me and your boss's relationship."

Everyone fidgets and some shuffle closer. They're dying to be filled in, and while they do deserve some information, now isn't the time. He uncrosses his arms and sweeps a point at each of them.

"I'll tell you lot later! You're his family, and it involves him, so once I walk back out here after settlin' this, I'll tell you all everythin'. Deal?"

_Crash!_

A few kids peel away and scurry back in their houses. Some stick around, too curious for their own good.

That was a bottle being thrown hard enough to shatter. Can Guzma hear them out here?

"Be careful, yo!"

He presses on the front door of Guzma's estate. Right as he pushes it open, a harsh scream grates his ears. Guzma's shouting up there. The hell does he have to throw a strop about? What's _he_ got to be so upset with?

Piers storms inside, boots announcing his presence against the dirty floor as he stomps his way upstairs. On his way down the hall, he catches a few glimpses of worried eyes peering through cracked doors. The younger kids, who live here, where Guzma can better protect them. Some guardian he is right now. Piers would love to stop and reassure them that everything will be fine, but he can't waste any time when their boss is having an intoxicated fit by himself, no doubt drinking himself into a deeper and deeper pit.

He shoves the beaten-down door open with a curse already on his lips.

_CRASH!_

Piers ducks to avoid the shards of the bottle that shatter against the doorframe.

"Fuckin' 'ell!"

Broken bottles are everywhere, shards scattered like deadly confetti. The whole place reeks of cheap booze. Piers' eyes dart around for the source. There's only one man, slumped in front of his throne looking like haggard, absolute shit.

Ire surges. How fucking dare Guzma be the one all fucked up when he was the one who started all this.

Piers marches right up to him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and glaring icily at the subject of all his hurt feelings.

"You," he spits. "What the fuck are _you_ drinkin' for, ya rancid fuck?"

Guzma _laughs._ There's a bottle in his hand, and its contents slosh hollowly enough to hint that it's an inch away from empty.

"Fffuck is this?" Guzma casts a hazy look upwards and takes a swig. When the bottle comes down, it sloshes again. "Ya real, man?"

He bends and grabs a fistful of his shirt. "This feel fake to you?" he growls. "Answer me. Why're you drinkin'?"

Without even looking, Guzma swats his hands away and slumps against the throne, head lolling against a polished wooden arm. He's three, four, five sheets to the wind. Not able to focus on anything except whatever daft drunk thoughts are floating through his head. Piers is gonna have to force feed him questions if he wants to get anything useful out of this. He didn't come all this way just to speak to a plastered wall.

"Why are you drinkin', Guzma?" he repeats through gritted teeth.

"Hah...? Gettin' rid a _her_ , 'f course." Guzma twirls a hand near his head. "She's aaawl up in here even if sh's gone. Fuckin'... _bitch_." He lobs the insult at the floor.

Piers takes a grimacing step back. "Lusamine? Fuck you, this ain't about _her,_ this is about me an' you, right here."

The gangster finally looks his way. Bleary as that gaze is, it's better than nothing. "Didja do the thing? Didja lookit?"

Piers blinks at the question. He wasn't expecting to be directly addressed.

"Yeah, I looked. Read up on everythin'." All the horrors and atrocities, courtesy of rags. Tabloids are always one for exaggeration and gory detail, but when it comes to things like accessing another bloody dimension and experimenting on Pokémon, there's not much that trash reporting can do to make it sound worse than it really is. "What about it?"

Guzma tries to tip his head back to drink, but his skull hits the chair. The drunkard hauls himself to his feet using his throne as a crutch, pulling the bottle to his lips but missing as he plods down from his throne one step at a time.

Piers stands his ground. The sorry excuse for a boss nearly trips into him but stays on his feet, swaying in place inches away. God, you could get drunk on his breath alone.

"Luuusamine... Whatchu thinkin' 'bout her, huh? She really got me good. Told me she'd gimme some cash. Needed it bad, so I thought, _a'ight,_ why not do whatever? I'll do it. An' I did! Even when I found out 'bout the... those 'speriments. I, still, did, it." Every word reeks. "Got 'em real good! Then she gets _me_ ," Guzma slaps his own chest, "with all her sweet nothin's. I thought she _cared._ Fuckin' joke."

The bottle lifts. Piers interrupts its arc with a grab of a searing-hot wrist. Man's too drunk to put much coordination into resisting.

"And what about me?" he hisses, dangerous and low. "I care. Really care. I wouldn't be here otherwise!"

"Care? I though' _she_ really cared! The firs' person in the—in the fuckin' world. All her touchy... touches, and... and kisses," he slurs. Guzma yanks his hand free, and Piers doesn't have the physical strength to stop him. The bottle sloshes and Guzma chases the sound, sneaking another quick drag and coughing around the lip. "I foll- followed her to th' end of the worl—!"

Piers sweeps in while Guzma hits a coughing fit. He confiscates the bottle before it can drop and gifts the drunk bitch with a hard whump to the back.

"Get a fuckin' hold a yourself an' listen t'me. I ain't here to listen to your ramblin', I'm here to talk. You understand? Say yes if you understand."

For a moment, he thinks he got through. Guzma sways in place, shaken by vestigial coughs and hiccups. He picks his head up, looks at Piers, opens his mouth, and... and...

...Launches into another ramble about that lady. How she deceived him about the reason behind the thieving ( _thank god,_ a tiny voice whispers, _he didn't know_ ), made him fall for her, took advantage of his broken and empty life to fill it with herself and tie her to him. She used his body in more ways than one.

Heartbreaking tale. At any other time Piers' heart would go out to the one telling it, but what the _fuck._

Does Guzma even see who's standing in front of him? Is Guzma actually _talking_ to him, or merely spewing whatever's on his mind? If anyone else were standing right in this spot, would Guzma do or say a single thing different?

Piers feels like it doesn't even matter that he's here.

His chest tightens like a vice around his heart. Guzma is slumped against the stairs in front of his stupid throne, bottle sloshing in hand, head rolling on his shoulders. Talking and talking, stringing his thoughts together half-coherently at best.

As hurt as Piers is, it's terrible of him that he stands there and waits it all out without a word. He knows it's awful. It wouldn't be hard to just step up and comfort the man, but the story fragments spilling out of Guzma's mouth are an aural train wreck. He can't stop listening. The more he knows, the better, that's how he justifies it.

The only consistency in Guzma's confessions—his rambling, his venting, his seething—is a name.

Lusamine, Lusamine, Lusamine...

_Angel, bitch, savior, demon, lover, liar, snake._

Beautiful, terrible Lusamine.

He hopes he never has to meet her.

Eventually, the alcohol drags Guzma to the carpet. He's repeating himself now, muttering words of regret towards the ceiling and staring like they're actually circling over his head.

Pitiable sight.

Piers' fury has long smoldered out. He can't take his eyes off the pathetic man sprawled on the carpet.

He could leave. There's nothing for him here. He can wait outside until enough time passes that Guzma has a shot at sober reasoning, so they can actually talk.

Does Piers still want to talk? There has to be a limit to how much he chases a man who's this much of a mess.

_Like you can be much better. Birds of a feather, you two are. Both of you ragged and screaming in your cages._

_(You got out though. You gonna leave him behind?)_

Piers slumps. He's too soft. Already knows the answer to his own question.

After all this, he still wants to be friends. Mess or not, Guzma's... he's special. Piers can't leave him like this, flat on his back where he could throw up and choke. Can't leave him alone to mumble his regrets to himself. What kind of friend would he be if he abandoned Guzma like this, drunk and alone?

Piers silently sighs and casts a look towards the bed. Got to clear away the shit on it to make room for a body.

He turns on a slow heel, and doesn't get to take a single step away before a ghost of a sound wavers from behind.

"Piers..."

He whips around. "Yes?"

Guzma's eyes are red and shining, but through the tears he's actually _looking_ at him, for what feels like the first time tonight.

"Yer shtill here, princess...?"

He's conversing. Good sign, a good sign...

"I am."

An audible swallow. "Duh... don' leave."

The nasty, petty part of him sneaks a few words in. "Didn' think ya noticed me here 't all."

He only gets a wet sniff in return. Piers sighs and shuffles closer until the toes of his boots are kissing Guzma's soles.

Man looks fucking miserable. Sorriest sod there ever was to see.

He crouches down and stares up the length of Guzma's body. The drunkard lifts his head up enough to maintain bleary eye contact. Attention had. Finally. The sight of those scared, shiny eyes puts a crack in the detached composure Piers has settled into.

"Got anythin' you wanna say to me?" He reaches out and pats his hand onto a knee. "Catch is, it's gotta be _to me._ No ramblin' at no one. Talk to me, Guzma."

The back of Guzma's head thumps against the carpet once more. His large chest swells and deflates, punctuated by another wet sniff.

Piers gives his shin a squeeze. As impatient as he is to communicate with this maybe-friend, maybe-lost-hope, he knows better than to rush a sad drunk. His thumb passes back and forth over Guzma's leg. Slow, even pressure, just enough stimulation to prevent Guzma from forgetting someone's here with him.

"I... I jus' wanna be happy." It creeps out, tight and rough. "An' so far... _you've_ made me pretty happy..."

Just like that, the remnants of Piers' resentment dissipate away. The tightness around his chest loosens and he feels like he can breathe easy again, even in a room like this, cluttered with broken glass and spilled booze.

He licks his lips, prepares his words and dresses them in as calm and stable a voice he can manage. "And I'm here. I'd like you to be happy."

Simple message. Strong enough to make Guzma shiver.

"Bu' those people..."

"What about them?"

Guzma covers his eyes with a forearm and sucks in a deep breath, holds it like it can soak up his suffering before letting it all out in a shuddering, achy sigh.

"They want me miserable... No matter wha' I do I'm the fffuckin' villain in their lives. An' they're right! Cuz I helped... in killin' those Pokémon." His voice goes hoarse. "I _helped._ Even if she took a'vantage of me, I still did everythin', and it's killin' me inside, Piers."

Under his forearm, tears streak down the sides of Guzma's head and vanish into the buzzed hair over his ears.

"Guzma..." This is starting to really pluck at his sense of compassion, but he has to ask while he can. Before his maybe-friend becomes inconsolable. "I can help you with all this. I _want_ to help you. Will you let me? ...Will you still be friends with me?"

He gets a tiny nod. Too small to really count, but hope is already grasping at his heart, trying to tug it up.

"Yeah... I- I wanna. I do. But those people—they'll jus' keep talkin' down on ya for seein' me, man. It'll never stop, and I can't do that to ya. I can't. I don't w-wanna hurt ya. So I... I tried pushin' ya away... F-Fucked it up though, since yer here, an' I... I don't wan' ya ta leave."

Trying to protect him by shoving him away. What kind of cheap harlequin novel-level logic is that. _God,_ what a horrid mix of selfish and selfless... The worst part is, Piers can't even be mad at him for such a stupid idea.

Guzma sniffs and drags his arm across his face, presses his hand over his eyes. "C-Can' even get someone ta fuck off properly. 'M such a fuck up."

Fuck up.

_Birds of a feather._

_(Hey, you said it, not me.)_

Piers shakes off the empathy pangs. Won't do him any good to get dragged into Guzma's spiral, homey as it looks. He needs to reach down, pull Guzma out of it instead, because what kind of friend would he be if he let this continue?

"You sorry git..." He makes his way to kneel near Guzma's head and sinks a hand into that thick white hair. A choked sob tries to escape and is muffled against its owner's palm, and Piers' heart cracks the rest of the way open.

He was always terrible at ignoring people who're crying. It's his instinct as an older brother to try and make them feel better. He's done it countless times with Marnie, more than once with random kids on Spikemuth's streets, and every so often, a sad drunk down on their luck. Looks like he gets another tally for the sad drunk category.

"Oh, luv," he sighs. "Shhh, it's okay... I'm not leavin'."

Guzma shudders. His hair is so soft—fluffy and thick like the Wooloos back home—but it's hard to appreciate when the man beneath it looks two breaths away from a complete breakdown.

Piers does his best to soothe, but it doesn't stop more self-hatred from rambling out.

"E-... everythin' in my life is shhhit. I'un wanna drag ya inna it. I, I'unno if I even deserve ta be happy. I don' deserve _shit._ "

"Hey..." he interrupts, gently as he can. "Of course you deserve to be happy, mate."

Hard for anyone to be happy when they're crying flat on the floor. Making Guzma feel better starts with getting his heavy arse up. Piers stands with cracking knees and offers a hand.

"Come on, let's get up."

Guzma shows no signs of wanting to move. Alright. Maybe standing is too much for now. Baby steps are a valid methodology for getting rat-legged bastards off the floor.

It only takes a moment for Piers to sit on the bottom step of the throne's platform. His long legs spread apart and his arms open in welcome.

"C'mere, luv. ...Come _here._ " He leans forward enough to push Guzma's hand off his face, and beckons right over his nose.

Guzma sniffs, finally rolls over, and drags himself closer. Piers grabs hold of his shirt and hauls the bastard in so he can hold the distraught man against his chest, legs crossed around him protectively. Heavy son of a bitch, and burning like a furnace.

Piers wraps his arms around his charge, one hand pushing into the cloud of hair and cradling Guzma's head against his chest.

"There we are... Cry it out, no shame." He pats Guzma's shoulder. Gives it a rub for good measure. "Everyone needs a good messy skrike now 'n again, let it out..."

Guzma pulls his heavy legs in, curls up within the spindly cage of Piers' limbs, and yes, here come the tears. Hot, relentless, and accompanied by no small amount of other face-sourced fluids. Gross, but nothing he can't put up with.

"'M a villain..." Guzma chokes and clutches his shirt.

Piers winces, both at the tug on his heartstrings and at the alcohol-scent. "You're no' a villain."

"I am!"

No, the gangster helped the _real_ villain do bad things, but he did it for his family. She manipulated him. If he wasn't around, Lusamine would no doubt have found someone else to do her dirty work. There's probably not a good way to articulate that in a way Guzma can comprehend. Not in his current state.

"Even if you think you are, you're _sorry,_ Guzma. That counts for so much. You are sorry, ain't ya?" The man in his arms shrinks and nods against his chest. "Then in my eyes, you're no villain. You're not a bad guy."

He curls tighter around his friend to close any remaining gaps as the sobs shake his shoulders.

"You helped me when I needed it, luv. You're a hero to me."

Guzma shudders and muffles a wretched noise into his shirt. Piers only croons and soothes him, pets his hair and rubs his back, patiently riding out the sobs.

Hero...

After multiple useless attempts, Guzma crushes his crying down and clutches at Piers' clothes like they can shield him from the hurt. "H-How can ya say'at, affer everyin' I did? Ya should hate me."

Hate him for everything. He deserves hate, for everything he did. Did to people, did to Pokémon, did to Piers... He yelled at Piers. Told him to leave and never come back. Piers should hate—

"I don't hate you, mate." A gentle voice soothes him from real close. The petting's gonna make him cry again. He _hates_ crying. It fucking sucks. He's big bad Guzma, not some shitty crybaby...

He grips Piers' shoulder and pushes himself up some, until black and white's in his face. Rapunzel hair... He fingers through the pretty hair, pulls some over Piers' shoulder to play with. Pretty. So pretty. Pretty and soft and kind and smiling at him all nice...

Too nice, Piers is too nice. He tried pushing someone so kind away. Fucking worthless stupid idiot...

"Better not wipe yer nose on that."

He defensively pulls the locks close to his chest. Doesn't wanna let go. Smells so good. Soft. Nice. Kind. Shouldn't've ever been mean to this guy.

"I was such fuckin'... a dumbass shit ta you..." he mumbles, pressing his lips into the fluffiness. "Why'd ya come back? I'm a fuck up. Hate me," he tries to order, but it's all muffled.

Piers rubs his back and squeezes him tighter. "No. I don't hate you, I think you're a good man."

His eyes sting worse. Piers doesn't know what he's talking about. He's not a good person, far from it, the furthest someone can be from being good. But hearing it still... it still hits him in a spot that really needs it. Some little neglected part of him is gasping for this.

He rubs soft hair against his cheek. Gives him the strength to say more.

"A-All the shit I did... No one should like me fer all the shit I did." Piers should hate him. Loathe him. Be disgusted. "I... I'm sorry 'bout all a' that. And 'bout all a' me. I'm sorry. I don' deserve anyone likin' me..."

He's squeezed. Something presses against the top of his head and lifts back up.

"Listen to me." Piers sounds even more gentle than before. How? "You don' have to break even on karma before you're worth likin', mate. I wasn' here to be hurt by Lusamine's plots, so it's not my place to say you're forgiven for damage done, but I _do_ think you're completely worthy of forgiveness, luv."

Most of what Piers is saying goes right over his head. Too many words to process at once. He does pick up the last bit, though. Worthy of forgiveness. And the nickname. That must be some sort of slang. There's no way Piers _actually_ means that. No one could actually love _him._ He's hated, everyone hates him and loves to hate him. That's the only love he'll get from people, how they love to hate his guts. No one could ever love him.

But... he thought no one could want to make friends with him either. Plumes doesn't count, she was already his friend before he ruined his own life. But Piers... Piers wants him, actually wants him. Why? Why?

Why is he doing this?

The hand in his hair slides away and trails down the side of his head. Cold fingers touch his cheek and coax him to look up. He tightens his grip on the bundle of Piers' hair and reluctantly glances up.

Oh, no. Those eyes are too understanding. He can't fucking take it, but he can't look away, those fucking eyes always do shit to him and he can never break away.

"Listen t'me, Guz. When you said we couldn't be friends, I was so pissed off," Piers reveals in a soft voice. "I really like you, see."

Are those words really coming in through his ears? Are they real? They sound real, and feel real...

"I... I like ya, too." He shifts closer. His heart's beating hard enough to hear. Do singers have good ears? Can Piers hear it? "Like ya a lot."

Piers smiles. It hurts to look at. But then it fades, and that hurts even more.

"I thought we had somethin' good goin' fer us. Which is why, when you... pulled the rug out from under me like that, I felt so lost and angry. You took yourself away after already givin' yourself t'me, and that felt so _unfair._ "

The hand on his cheek tenses and Piers closes his eyes. Guzma takes the opportunity to hide, pressing his forehead against Piers' chest and trying to inhale his scent through a stuffy nose.

The other hand, on his back, strokes him slow. Comforting. Piers is comforting _him._ Shouldn't it be the other way? He's so useless right now.

"...Are you sorry for doin' that t'me? Because that is somethin' I can and will forgive you for, if you say it."

Just if he says it? Only from words? He can't believe that Piers is willing to forgive him that easily. Either Piers is a fool or a stupidly good person.

He picks his head up. Willingly meets Piers' eyes, searches them for _something_. He doesn't know what, but he thinks he sees it. Aches for it so much his throat closes. Piers' neck looks like a great place for his face right now, so he sticks it there, and does his best to speak and say what his aikāne deserves. Because they are aikāne, even if he tried to sabotage it and kill the one good thing to happen to him in ages, what was he fucking thinking?

"I'm s-... I'm so fuckin' sorry, Piers. I didn' wanna hurt ya, but I did..." Fuck, he feels like shit. He hurt Piers, someone who actually cares enough about him to come running back anyways. "I'm so sorry."

"And I forgive you." Piers nuzzles into his hair. Like Gol does. "Just don't do it again, alright?"

He won't. Not ever. He never wants to hurt the first person to care about him this much in a long while, ever again. His stupidity nearly blew it but he's got a second chance and like fuck is he wasting it.

"I won't. I promise."

That earns him another nuzzle. He relaxes under the touch.

"If anythin', I'm sorry for invitin' more pain your way. That girl wouldn'a said those awful things if you weren' with me."

"'S not yer fault." His chuckle stutters. "She prob'ly woulda said that shit anyways."

"Guess the world's against us bein' mates or somethin'. Fuck that, though. We can stay together just because we want to."

The casual way Piers says that—that they can stay together—makes his heart trip. He's making it sound like they're _together_ together.

He doesn't know what's going to become of this. He knows there's _something_ between them, whether it's romantic or platonic, he isn't sure yet. He sure as hell can't make a good call when he's shit-faced like this.

All that matters is that Piers wants to be around him, and that he can be around Piers. They only have a week. They need to hang out more. Shit, they really, _really_ need to hang out more. They wasted enough time apart today after he tried to run away and leave Piers behind. He's gotta find ways to make up for it. Maybe invite Piers to come see him at Hala's? That sounds good. Real good. It's early in the morning, so he can see Piers at the start of the day and then they can keep hanging out after. They can spend all day together. All day... Yeah, that sounds amazing...

"Yo, tomorrow, y'should... come 'n visit Hala's place while I'm workin'. Wanna see ya."

Piers says something. Agreement? A question? Whatever, wasn't a no. Hard to listen when the arms around him shift and hold him so nicely.

He sighs, and relaxes in the embrace. He _knows_ he's blushing right now, but can't bring himself to care. Been a while since he was held like this, and that last time felt so different than this time here. When Lusamine held him, it always felt wrong somehow. Like she didn't really enjoy putting her arms around him. With Piers, it feels more right. He actually feels... safe. Cared about.

He isn't sure what to do now that he's stopped crying. Does he hold Piers back? Just sit here and be held? He doesn't know what to do with his hands. Eventually, he just... wraps them around Piers' slim waist.

When was the last time he hugged someone who wasn't one of his kids or Plumes? Probably his mom, and that would have been ages ago. This is beyond just hugging, though. They're holding each other.

"Can't 'member a last time I did somethin' like this," he admits in a whisper.

A chuckle resonates all around him. "Then next time, you can remember this moment here as the last time it happened."

He definitely will. He won't forget this any time soon.

If only he could forget all the other bad shit before it, though. Like making a damn scene at the restaurant... Causing gossip that no one needs. Not him, not Piers, not nobody.

He must have mumbled something about it, because Piers is talking again.

"'S alright, mate. Feels like some kinda rockstar initiation to have drama happen in public. If people ask, I'll tell 'em we ki—we made up just fine."

"Can ya... can ya tell th' kids? Them too? That 'm okay."

The gang always hates seeing him like this... All the ones who had alcoholic parents hide from him the moment they sense he's headed in for a drink. He feels terrible about it, but it's not like he can just stop drinking when he needs it so bad. Whenever he's not drinking, he hates himself even worse.

Not drinking now. He's behind on schedule, he should have gone through another bottle by now. Piers stopped him.

"... _Are_ you okay? Guzma? Oi..."

No drinks, but... no voices either. It's so quiet right now. Just him and Piers.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'm okay." He exhales through his nose and relaxes against the man holding him. "Jus' fine."

"Alright, luv. I'll let 'em know."

There it is again.

"If ya keep callin' me that, people really will think we're datin'." Not that he would mind. That's one rumor he could get behind. He'd enjoy playing that up. It was fun at the restaurant while it lasted.

"Hm? Oh, sorry... 'S a Galarian thing. Stopped usin' it overseas in case people get the wrong idea, like you've said. But you seemed like you needed it. Some pet names, I mean. I can stop."

With a groan of protest, he shakes his head. "No. I like it."

"Alright then, luv. I'll keep it up." A cold hand rests over his chest. Feels damn good. He wants those hands other places, not just his front. But the hand on his chest isn't bad. Not bad at all.

He's getting all sorts of ideas. One of them, right now, he wouldn't mind following through on. He's drunk, and warm, and being held and stroked and sweet-talked by someone sexy as _fuck._ Nah, he wouldn't mind at all...

He pushes up and mumbles in Piers' ear, slightly out of breath. "Keep feelin' me up like this and I might think ya have some kinda up-tier... interior modal. Motive. Fuck."

The hands vanish. He groans in complaint and feels around for where they went.

"Ulterior motive?" Piers mumbles into his hair. "Sorry 'bout that. Thought we established I don't."

That's right, they did... Meaning that yeah, Piers doesn't just want him for his body. Meaning that... that...

The right pieces fall together through the haze.

It means that if they did have sex, it _would_ be meaningful. He's been wanting that forever, and maybe, just once in his sad fucking life, he can have it. Yeah, there's an idea...

"Don' be sorry, I like that. Where'd yer hands go..."

His head falls onto Piers' shoulder. He turns it to the side and runs his nose along the other man's neck above the choker there. Smells good... What's Piers doing, walking around smelling this good. Almost like he wants to tempt people.

"Right here." Pale fingers wiggle in his face.

He gropes for them and catches them and presses one right back onto his chest. With single-minded determination he pries the hand open until it's flat. That's better.

A dizzy chuckle leaves him at the sight of the spidery hand on his chest. Piers has got long fingers, and the flaky black nail polish makes his skin look even paler. Can see every tendon. Cold even through his shirt. Feels so good on his overheated body.

The hand twitches and he lightly laughs, breathless at the subtle sensation of Piers touching him like that.

"You tryna get me in bed? Sneaaaky. All ya hadda do was ask." Someone feeling up his chest always did it for him. Of course, Piers doesn't know that, but he's doing it anyways.

"What 'appened to takin' you to dinner fir—..."

He presses his lips against Piers' neck, and on a whim, draws his tongue up the length of it.

Piers' eyes fly open when lips press on his neck. Just drunk cuddliness...

At least, that's what he thinks, until Guzma licks him, all the way up until he's nearly tasting his jaw, and with every hot wet centimeter traveled, heat crawls through his body. Piers' hand tightens on Guzma's chest and he sucks in a breath.

A heavy head leans against his shoulder, seemingly satisfied.

"..."

Is... Is this still just teasing? Or does Guzma actually want to...

No, he's _drunk,_ end of story. Close the damn book.

Piers takes stock of his voice to make sure there are no traces of arousal in it when he speaks.

"Bedtime for you. I do wanna get you in bed, to make you _sleep._ " To emphasize his point, Piers yanks his hand free.

That stunt Guzma pulled with his tongue was way too dangerous. If he tries something like that again, it'll take a lot of self-control for Piers to not let it affect him. Or his dick. Which would have very, very tangible and _very noticeable_ consequences, and while it would be understandable to pop a stiffie in this situation, the mortification would not be worth suffering through.

"Don' wanna sleep. Not 'less ya come wimme." Guzma pouts and paws at his chest. Too bad for the lout, there's nothing there to grab.

"Yes, sure, I'll come," Piers appeases. "Now get up, you heavy... ugh!" He tries to heave Guzma up and off of him. No progress.

He better not spend the rest of the night stuck underneath a body thrice as dense as his own. As nice as weighted blankets are he's not in the mood for a living substitute tonight.

"I said get your arse up!" He digs his fingers into Guzma's back.

"Tch, _fiiine._ " Guzma struggles to get to his feet, and as soon as the weight's off him Piers scrambles free. He wraps an arm around Guzma's shoulders and drags him to bed, allowing the man to crash onto it with a hail of creaking springs.

"There," he huffs. "I'll get ya some water. Don't move, I'll be right—"

"Don' leave!" Guzma whines.

He grits his teeth. Sad drunk, clingy drunk. It'd be luck of all lucks if Guzma was a horny drunk as well.

"I ain't leavin'," he says, injecting as much patience into his voice as he can. "Just gettin' you water."

That pout doesn't budge. "I wan' ya stayin' fer the night. But I gotta go ta Hala's. Inna morning."

"That's very nice. You need rest for that, and a hangover won't help, so I'm gonna be back."

"...Water?"

"Yes. I'll get you some water," he slowly articulates.

Guzma's lower lip pushes out thoughtfully. Some light bulb must have gone off, because he smiles and finally shifts around on the bed to get more comfortable. 

"Ya suuure that's the only thing ya wanna do? Ya got me inna perfect sitchy-ation ta have yer way wimme. I won't mind. I know yer not like her. Ya can have me." Guzma rubs a hand over his own chest with a sloppy attempt at a seductive expression.

Of all the—okay. Sad, clingy, and horny. The unholy trifecta. He can deal with this.

"No." He marches up, leans over the edge of the bed, and grips Guzma's shoulders. Once he's sure the drunk is paying attention to him, he says his piece.

"I will _never_ take advantage of you, Guzma." He holds that dazed gaze hostage for a long moment before softening. "Here or otherwise."

His hand slides up and cups a burning cheek, and he gently smiles.

"I'm here to take care of you instead. So let me do that, luv. Be right back."

_Fuck._

He clumsily lays his hand over the one cupping his cheek. If that didn't shoot him right through the heart. A whirl of different emotions are flying through right now. Appreciation. Gratitude. And something else, something... intense. And scary. Scary because he's felt it before and it didn't end well for him.

"Piers..." What he wouldn't give to grab hold of Piers and pull him down until he's laying right on top of him. He wants to cuddle all night, but can't ask for that. No way will Piers say yes.

"What is it?"

He goes for it anyways. They don't call alcohol liquid courage for nothing.

"D'ya wanna... wanna cuddle? Like, f'real this time?" He holds his breath as he waits for an answer.

Piers hums and taps a finger to his cheek. "Promise not to grope me?" The raised brow says he's joking, but Guzma answers him completely seriously. He's not fucking it up this time.

"Cross my heart, princess." He tries swiping his finger over his chest. Didn't really make the X, but close enough. "C'mere. I wanna... I wanna feel ya on me."

He doesn't bother waiting for an answer. His desires take over and he's tugging on Piers' arms until he collapses onto his chest. As soon as the weight is on him, Guzma sighs in relief and wraps his arms around that beautiful slender waist.

_Fuck, he's so skinny. Feel like 'm gonna break him._

"...You alright?" Piers shifts on top of him and his arms tighten on instinct. _Stay right here._

Once he's sure Piers isn't gonna move away, his hands wander up and down that bony back, exploring all the angles and dips and finally settling on the singer's sharp hips with a soft grip.

"Am now."

The only thing occupying his hazy mind is how _good_ it feels to hold someone like this. How _good_ Piers feels on top of him. How _good_ his friend's waist and hips feel in his hands. So delicate and light.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when Piers picks his head up.

"Hey... I can't stay here. You need to sleep."

Guzma folds his arms around Piers' lower back and squeezes. Piers sighs from the pressure and his pretty eyelashes flutter.

Ohoh... Does he like that?

"Nah... Changed my mind. I want ya right here. With me."

"No, really, we shouldn't—"

"Please, doll? I wanna touch ya all night."

The cutest blush glows on his princess's face. "Y-You promised no gropin'. Don't think there's any other kindsa touchin' you're capable of right now. No offense."

They're touching without groping right now, aren't they? But if Piers wants another kind, he can come up with one. Just gotta think...

His lips press up as he thinks. Touching, no groping allowed, what can they do in that category...

"...Goddit." He grins. He's a genius. "Lemme show ya."

He rolls them onto their sides and buries his face into that slender neck once more, inhaling Piers' scent and dragging his lips up along the other man's throat, over his jaw, and stopping when their eyes meet.

Their lips are inches away. He can feel Piers' breath on his lips. So close, just a little more... Liiiittle more, then he'll show him what's what...

He glances up. Piers' gaze is so intense that he falters. He can't tell if it's a warning or a dare burning in there, and he's too drunk to care which. The only thing he knows is that right now, Piers looks so beautiful that he can't not do it. He has to kiss him. Has to!

"Piers..." he breathes.

"You done? Let me up, I need to..." Piers is red, that's all he can see. Blushing, beautiful, still in his arms... "I- I need to catch the ferry 'fore it gets too late."

A pair of thin hands press against his chest, push to get distance—he's leaving? Now? No, not yet!

"Wait!"

He pulls.

"Guzma—"

Piers falls back into him and is caught by a kiss. Fuuuck, his lips are so soft. They're incredible against his not-so-soft ones. Guzma's whole body relaxes beneath it. He tries to deepen the contact, licking at Piers' bottom lip and begging for entry with a whine and a probing tongue.

He's shoved against the bed. A confused sound leaves his unoccupied lips. The bed creaks and is suddenly empty. Wait, where—?

"You," Piers pants, wiping an arm across his mouth, "need to go the fuck to sleep."

"Wh... wha' happened? Don' ya wanna kiss me?" He pouts. "It was jus' gettin' good."

Piers crosses his arms and glares. "I don't kiss people who taste like a fuckin' bar sink. I'm gettin' you water and then I'm leavin'. No arguin'!" He cuts Guzma off before he can get a word out, and leaves before he can say more than "Hold up!"

Tch, fine... Might as well lay down and rest. Room's getting all dizzy anyways.

Something rouses him by shaking his shoulder. Whazzat...? Oh, Piers is back!

"Heyyy... couldn' shtay away, huh?" He struggles to sit upright. Once he's up, something cold is stuck in his hand. His head flops down to look at it, and a wonky reflection stares back at him.

"Drink up."

Aw, brought him water... Taking care of him. 'Cause Piers really cares. Like a real friend.

He raises the glass to his lips and nearly spills it. Piers' hand darts close to stabilize the glass and he clicks his tongue, and touches Guzma's forehead with his other cool hand. "Come now, take it slow... That's it... Oi, don't drink too fast!"

Piers yanks the glass away and he whines. He was really thirsty! Why bring him water just to take it away?

"Biiitch. Thought you were... _hoa pili_..." He hiccups. Fuck. Maybe he did drink too fast. "Can't believe yer treatin' me like dis."

"It's for your own good." He takes a sip of Guzma's water. "Wot's that mean, by the way?"

"Wha's what?" Guzma tears his eyes off Piers' bobbing throat. "What means what."

"That thing. Something-pili...?" Piers hands him the glass again, and he grabs it and hunches around it protectively.

"Oh..." What's that mean again? Oh, right. Hm.

He sticks his tongue out. "Mmmm, figure it out yerself. Not gonna tell ya. My lips're sealed." He zips his finger across his mouth only to immediately break the zip to take another sip of water.

Piers glowers at him. Cute. "Sure weren't sealed when you tried snoggin' me..." he mutters, and shakes his head. "Look, fine. I don't care what it means. Finish that and lie down. I'll tuck your drunk arse in."

Piers was only joking about tucking Guzma in, but the needy thing whined and wheedled so much when he tried to walk away without doing it that he was forced to double back and follow through on what was meant to be a throwaway line. It's astonishing that he actually acquiesced to Guzma's pouty demands; he's supposed to be all tough love when dealing with people drunk off their arses. It's the best way to handle sloshed men, he's found.

The pitch blackness and sheer size of the manor's kitchen make it easy for the room to hide its flaws. Piers' phone flashlight is a judgemental beacon on every scratch and dent and dusty surface. Would be downright spooky if he didn't know this building was safe, and if he didn't have more pressing issues at hand blocking him from having the emotional capacity to be spooked.

The pipes in the industrial-sized sink groan and shake when he turns the tap to refill the glass in his hand. Before he leaves, he wants to make sure Guzma has something to hydrate with as soon as he wakes up. There were so many bottles up there, and he was so out of it most of the time... Gonna have a wicked hangover in the morning, that's for sure.

Piers sighs and turns off the shuddering tap, and sets the glass on the counter. It's a wonder, and a blessing, that the tap water's drinkable to begin with. He wouldn't know where to begin if he had to look for bottled water around here, and he's glad he doesn't have to. Searching the cabinets for this one glass was a level five scavenger hunt in itself.

"Why'm I doin' this," he whispers. He sets his phone on the edge of the counter so the light shines over the edge, and rubs his palms into his eye sockets.

He came all the way to Ula'Ula to deliver a personal _fuck you_ to Guzma, and ended up staying for hours, babysitting him while he rambled and cried and clung and whined.

None of this was his responsibility to handle. Guzma was the one to push _him_ away, who tried to end things between them. Piers didn't have to walk all the way out here. He didn't have to stay once he saw the man incapable of conversation or reason. He didn't have to act the caretaker. Or forgive Guzma for what he did. Or fucking tuck him in like an expensive Wyndon nanny.

But he did all that shite anyways.

Why?

The coldness of the counter's edge seeps through his clothes as he leans against it, arms crossed, head hung to stare at the patch of brightness his phone's torch casts on the floor next to his shoes. Awful dusty, this floor is.

He wonders when the last time was that someone cleaned it, or the rest of the house.

He wonders when the last time was that someone cared for Guzma.

Why did he, that's the real question.

There's a superficial answer. That he did it because Guzma's his friend, and he likes taking care of his friends. Which, yes, that's all true, but he's not satisfied leaving it at that.

_Why are you trying so hard for him? Nobody's asking you to try this hard. You've never tried half this hard for gingersnap. Made him do all the initial legwork before you got your head out of your arse and let him in._

A pang in his chest. Just thinking about weather boy. Piers misses him dearly.

Maybe that's it. Maybe he's only doing all this for Guzma because he misses friendship in general. Misses what he has with Raihan, and couldn't be apart from it for one measly month before getting friend-desperate and latching onto the first person to remind him of home.

Or that could be the reason. Guzma reminds him of home. His dilapidated, run-down town. Anyone could look between Spikemuth and Po Town and match up similarities. This place does bring him comfort, with its crappy roads and leaky roofs and terribly grimy floors. Yeah... Home shit home alright.

Is that really all...? Missing Raihan, missing home, and taking it all out on an absolute mess of a man with his own airport's worth of baggage? That's taking advantage of him, isn't it.

Guilt pools like tar around his stomach, and Piers only realizes he's touching his choker when he hears the clink it makes. He sighs and hooks his finger deeper into it, rolling a thumb across a metal spike like it's a prayer bead.

If all that's true, then he's an awful friend. Going on his platonic crusade waving his false pretenses around like a flag.

_(Come now, would an awful friend have stayed and taken care of him like that? Hugged him? Held him? Let him cry it out without judging him? Answer yourself that.)_

Raihan's voice filters in. _You're one of the most caring people I know. I love that about you, half-moon,_ it says, just as warm as the real thing.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he squeezes his pendant, not caring about the little point of pain digging into his palm.

Right. Raihan's friends with him because there's things Raihan likes and admires about him. It took Piers ages to believe it wasn't a farce, but now that he knows the truth, he's never been able to forget it. Raihan won't let him forget it, either. Man's so affectionate...

Raihan asked him yesterday about the specific things he likes about Guzma. He wasn't able to fully thoroughly at the time, not even to himself, but perhaps now, in the dark privacy of this dirty kitchen, he can try.

Team Skull's boss is a mess of a man, that's for sure. But not a bad one. No one who hugs his kids like he means it can be a bad man. He cried over his wrongdoings, apologized a dozen times for a myriad of things... People seem to truly hate him, for reasons he hates to admit are valid, but Piers is sure that Guzma isn't _bad._ Done bad things, yes, but even good people can do bad things. Just like bad people can do good things.

Guzma's strong, too. No, not just physically (the shallow part of him grants a few points for it regardless). Putting up with so much disregard and derision from others and supporting his family the whole while, that's strength. And god, does that man love his family. They love him too, as evidenced by their worry outside.

His smart mouth is a delight, as is how quick he can be to laugh. He's surprisingly cuddly. And knows all about what it's like to protest a system of battle. Dynamaxing, Z-moves or whatever they were called, same difference, yeah? And Goony likes him. Crude as he is, he's gentle too, evidenced by how he brushed Piers' hair this morning, mindful of tangles and causing any pain. And he gets excited over meeting strange new Pokémon.

A tiny smile dents his concentrated expression. Piers taps his foot, keeping it quiet to not disturb himself.

Yeah... Yeah, what was he thinking, that he only wanted to hang out with Guzma because he was selfish? Guzma's plenty likeable and Piers likes him lots. He likes Guzma for the man he is, doesn't have to be more complicated than that. Friendship's friendship.

Today was just a rough patch. They got over it, together. Yeah, Guzma was a pain to handle when drunk, but it all worked out in the end.

Piers' hand loosens from his choker and drifts up to idly rub at his lips. He licks them, and swears he can taste a hint of alcohol.

A slow drip from the sink punctuates the silence.

"I need a pint o' me own after this..." He pushes away from the counter with a sigh, taking the glass of water with him for one final trip up the stairs.

. . .

"He's back!"

Piers startles when a few heads pop up out of nowhere in the dark. Were they camping out here waiting for him to come out? A trio gathers around him before he's even taken a step off Guzma's front porch.

"Is the boss okay?"

"Did you get him to stop drinking?"

"Did he yell at ya?"

_Did way more than just that._

He lifts his hands to soothe the kids' nerves. "Yes, yes, and no, not really. He's fine now, don't worry about him. He'll be hungover tomorrow, but he deserves it for guzzlin' so much. I put him to bed and made sure he hydrated."

Their eyes shine in the dim light. These three must be particularly attached to Guzma to stay out here like this, waiting. Good kids.

Piers sighs and folds himself down to take a seat on the front stairs of the manor, arms hanging over his knees.

"S'ppose I owe you all an explanation, don't I?"

The kids are quick to take seats around him, on the stairs and on the cobble. He's formulating where to start when one of the kids kicks things off for him.

"Is there something going on between you and the boss?" the boy closest to him asks. "He told us yesterday that uh... your Pokémon got jacked and he helped get 'em back, and you invited us to come to a concert, but..."

A girl finishes the thought. "But why'd you come here for him?"

He stretches his legs out and leans back on stiff arms. The moon's risen enough to send light over the walls, basking all of Po Town in washed-out silver.

"Your boss..." he starts, pauses, and rewords. "Guzma and I, we got off to a rough start, but we made up. We wanted to make friends, so we agreed to give it a go. Some shite happened today that made him reconsider," the word sits sour on his tongue, "so I came over here to set him straight, an' we made up. And here we are."

Silence settles while the teens take all that in. One just looks confused, the second's sitting on excitement, and the other's biting his lip like he wants to say something.

Come to think of it, they might be able to tell him what that _hoa pili_ thing was about. Piers said he didn't care what it meant, but that was a total lie. He hesitates to ask the kids, though, in case it's something inappropriate. He wouldn't put it past Guzma to label their relationship as something strange. Best to hold off until he finds an Alolan adult to ask.

"Yo, so... Man, you wanna be friends with boss pretty bad, huh?"

That catches him off guard. "What?" He pulls his legs back in.

"Yeah, like!" the girl chimes in. "Dealin' with him when he's drunk takes some mad guts! You came all the way out here just to make up? That's crazy!"

Heat pushes to his face. He hopes it's dark enough that they can't see it. "I- I was just angry that he tried droppin' me for silly reasons. What kinda friend would I be if I let him do that t'me?"

From all sides, the teens lean closer with excitement and—admiration? No, he can't believe that—written all over their faces. "That's amazing!"

"I can't believe he got someone as cool as you to hang out with! A real rockstar!"

"He works his butt off and needs to have some fun once in a while, man! He's got, like, no social life, man, it's wack."

"Yeah! Boss is always either workin' with Kahuna Hala, or fixin' up Po Town with us. He so needs the break—"

Piers raises a hand. "Wait, wait. So it really is just all you workin' on this place?"

He may or may not be latching onto this new topic to give himself a chance to recover from all this unwarranted praise.

They nod. "We've been fixin' up our home forever. Just us."

No one's been helping them. They're just teenagers and they have to fend for themselves like this? Granted, Po Town is far away from any other civilization, but still...

There's got to be something Piers can do to help them. He might have Spikemuth to think about, but no one back home would argue against him trying to get something done for a sorry place like Po Town. He's got a shocking amount of concert profits, maybe he can forward some of that windfall their way? Nanu might be able to advise him, as Kahuna of Ula'Ula, and someone who helps care for these kids.

"You're good kids." Piers reaches out to pat the nearest head. The boy flushes and swats his hand away.

"J-Just keep stayin' cool with the boss, a'ight?"

He chuckles and pushes himself to his feet. His phone says he's still got enough time to make it to the last ferry even if he takes his time, enjoying Ula'Ula in the scenic dark. He can let his team out, too, to appreciate the nighttime sights and scents of a new region.

"Don't you worry, I won't leave him alone. In fact, I've got an appointment with him tomorrow mornin'. Cross my heart, he'll see me again soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably guess where we COULD have split this into two chapters, but we decided to leave Day 2 as one whole chunk rather than give it a big cliffhanger in the middle.
> 
> (pun explanation: Piers called Goony "Obstropagoon", which is a mash of "Obstropolous" and "Obstagoon." Obstropolous is a twist off the word "obstreperous," and is localized to Manchester (which is where I centered Piers' dialect around). It means "difficult to control, unmanageable, unruly.")
> 
> Hours remaining: 126


	4. Double 'Oh'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things we learned last chapter:  
> 1) It takes a long time to brush long hair.  
> 2) Fake-dating works best when both people are in on it.  
> 3) Piers is experienced in taking care of drunk people.
> 
> Translation Notes:  
> kama 'oko'a - affectionate term, "my boy"

Why does Hala insist that Guzma drag himself to his house at the ass-crack of dawn no matter what?

He's always the only guy on the first ferry out of Ula'Ula, meaning no one's here to judge him for trying to catch a few extra winks on deck. Or, he would be trying, if he didn't have the worst hangover on the planet. He can barely remember what happened last night, and any time he tries to recollect it's like someone's twisting screws into his temples.

Piers came over, he remembers that part. He said some shit about Lusamine... Can't remember shit after that, but it can't have been that bad if he woke up in bed, all tucked in with a full glass of water on his nightstand.

The only thing that worries him about last night is the weird sense that Piers got pissed at him for something. He already apologized to all those living in Shady House for the yelling and stuff he knows he did. He definitely threw bottles, the evidence of that was scattered all over the carpet. No matter how hard he tries to remember details, the only thing to come back is his migraine.

Finally. _Finally_ after a long trek up hills and stairs and ruminating on things that may or may not happened last night, Hala's house looms ahead. Much as he hates getting up this early for training, a distraction from the frustration of lost memory would be perfect right now.

He bangs on the door. Not two seconds later, it swings open with a gust and the doorway is filled with big, grinning old guy.

"Guzma, my boy! Did you eat breakfast? We have some left over, would you like a bit?" He flashes his bright signature smile and Guzma nearly flips his sunglasses down to block it.

He can only bring himself to nod, if just to make Hala stop talking sooner. His head is pounding and ringing and every booming word is like a hammer on the bell of his skull.

Hala ushers him inside to the dining table. The hell, this is way more food than just 'left over,' it's practically an entire intact breakfast. He's told the old man before, he doesn't need to be fed. He's not some stray Rockruff. Still, be a waste to all this shit go untouched.

"Have a rough night last night?"

_Fuck._

Guzma wants to drag a hand down his face. Of course Hala noticed he looks like shit. He _knows_ the old man is going to start prying about it. Hala always liked playing therapist with him and it never fails to put him into a foul mood, which is just what he needs before training.

No point in pretending last night was sunshine and roses.

"Yeah. You could say that," he grumbles, and drops into a chair.

The food does look amazing. When he woke up he didn't have the appetite for anything, courtesy of his hangover, but after the hike his stomach aches for something to fill it. A piled up plate appears in front of him, but before he can dig in, Hala spoils it by opening his mouth.

"Drinking again, I take it?" the Kahuna pointedly asks.

"Tch." He's not going to say anything when Hala already knows the answer.

"What was it that did it? Why don't you tell me?" Hala sits across from him, folding his hands together on the table.

_Just like a therapist._

Annoying old man won't let this drop if he doesn't give _something_ away. Better get it over with. He snatches a fork up and hunkers low over the plate.

"I got tired of people's shit, that's what. Can't go anywhere without people judgin' me or anyone I'm with." He shovels food past his grimace. It's delicious, but he doesn't show it.

The Kahuna eyes him with a practiced neutral smile.

"And who were you with?"

Fork scrapes plate. Guzma doesn't wince. Hala could always see right through him and that always pissed him off the most. He's never allowed to keep secrets from the old man, but if Hala wants details on this he'll have to pry them from Guzma's cold, dead, hungover fingers.

"None of your business." He demolishes breakfast as fast as he can and stands from his seat, since work is better than suffering through this privacy invasion. "So, what are we doin' today? Gonna have me meditate? Work out? What?"

Hala laughs a hearty laugh, patting his stomach with his hand. "Why, so eager! No, today you're going to be trimming the palm trees."

He groans. That's the job he hates the most. Those trees are too damn fuckin' tall, and he has to lug the ladder and cutters everywhere. "Fine. Lead the way."

* * *

_Barista said to follow Route 2 around the perimeter of the island until it turns into Route 3, then just go up the hill... She called this a hill? It's huge!_

It's mid-morning, and Piers is following through on Guzma's drunk invitation to come see him while training with the man called Hala. Who lives at the very top of the "hill."

A little morning exercise never killed anybody, but Piers wishes he was warned before he set out. First the boat ride (thankfully, shorter than the one to Ula'Ula), now this...

Thoughts of giving Guzma the iced coffee in his hand keep his feet from dragging, as do thoughts of last night.

God, last night. Where to even begin with that mess...

Piers learned more about one man in the span of a couple hours than he's ever learned about anyone he's known for years. His head's still reeling trying to parse it all. He's gotten as far as boiling last night down to three facts.

One, Guzma's a man who needs more hugs. Very manageable. He's discovered a while ago that he can get quite touch-starved (made worse by his best friend's spoiling), and Guzma's his friend, and what's a little affection between friends? Guzma's hurting for it, Piers is missing it, one plus one equals...?

Two—the second fact, that is—Lusamine wrecked Guzma's life. Not just socially, but emotionally, mentally... Was the gangster always an alcoholic, or did it start after her?

(It sounded like he loved her.)

And three. God.

Fact number three is that even though they agreed to assume sex wouldn't—shouldn't—happen, it's getting bloody difficult to ignore the idea. That tongue on his neck, those big strong arms squeezing and gripping him, that kiss... Boozy as it was, it wasn't the worst kiss. Guzma may have had prior hang-ups about intimacy and sex (thanks to, surprise surprise, that lady), but he seemed very on board with making out. If only he wasn't drunk, Piers might not have abandoned ship so soon...

There's a chance that Guzma just wanted to cuddle and kiss with no sex or groping involved, but Piers was and still is pretty damn certain that if he let things continue last night, pants would have come off. Which is a shame, because cuddling and making out sounds amazing. Lying on that soft, muscular body was heaven, and so was being wrapped up in those solid arms... What's a little kissing between friends at the end of the day? No big deal. He's no stranger to it.

It all depends on how Guzma feels sober. It's mental to build fantasies based on someone's drunk actions. He just has to scrounge up the courage to ask his friend face to face, while he's sober. Surely it's been on his mind all morning as well.

Oh, yeah, there's fact number four. They're friends again. Which is the only reason he's carting this iced coffee up this damn hill and all its fucking stairs. Caffeine always helps him when he's hungover, it might help Guzma as well.

Bastard better appreciate the treat. Unless he doesn't like coffee. Damn, why didn't Piers think of that sooner? Oh well, fingers crossed. If Guzma doesn't drink it, he will. He's tempted to take sips now after climbing for so long.

Indirect kiss. How nice.

His skinny legs are burning and he's nearly overheated by the time he comes into Iki Town. Oh, dammit, there's one more set of stairs. The big roof he can see must belong to the Kahuna's house. He swears he'll have sweated off all the sunscreen he slathered on this morning by the time he's made it.

When Piers finally reaches the top, he spots a curious sight.

A heavyset man with ash grey hair stands with his back turned. He's looking up at something... into a tree? There's a ladder leaning against the far side of it, and Piers can spot someone's legs at the top, partially hidden by the skinny trunk. Is that... Guzma up there? What's he doing climbing trees?

He's got no choice but to acknowledge the stranger before him.

"'Scuse me..." Piers picks his way closer. "Are you Hala?"

The man turns around, and despite being taller, Piers suddenly feels as if he were under a microscope. The old man's eyes go from his chest (which is where everyone's eyes start), up to his face, and down to the iced coffee dripping condensation in his hand. The gears are turning in that grey head, and to avoid letting the old man scrutinize him further via eye contact, Piers averts his gaze back to the ladder on the tree.

"I brought somethin' for Guzma, if he's here."

The old man grins and turns to the tree as well.

" _Guzma, kama 'oko'a!_ " he bellows.

The ladder wobbles and a cacophony of swears rains down from the fronds. At the source of it all is Guzma, who descends a few steps and fires a glare at the Kahuna and gestures with a pair of shears.

"What the fuck, old man!? I coulda fell! Stop fuckin' yell... ing."

Guzma spots him. After a prolonged moment of mutual staring, Piers raises the cup in greeting, and the shears lower.

Muttered cursing reaches his ears as Guzma picks his way down the ladder. He jumps the last few rungs, drops the shears, jogs right up, and oh, _fuck._

Someone was clearly working hard. Guzma's hair is messier than usual and his skin shines with sweat. No jacket covers his arms; they're displayed in all their bare, muscular glory. That white tank top is nearly see-through with how damp it is from its wearer's exertion.

"Hey," Guzma shoves his hands into his pockets once they're within speaking distance. "How are y—" The old man slams Guzma's bare back with his hand. The gangster coughs and stumbles forward, bringing them closer together.

"Why don't you introduce me to your friend, hm?"

Guzma glares at the old man's poker-faced smile while Piers finds a nearby palm tree very engaging.

Friend. He's being introduced as a friend.

"Fine, geez." Guzma gestures between them. "Kahuna Hala, this is Piers from Galar. Piers, Kahuna Hala."

The elder steps forward and holds his hand out with a glint of mischief in his eye. "A pleasure to meet you in person!"

"Oh, uh..." He swaps the drink to his other hand and wipes the cold moisture off his palm so he can shake hands. "Pleasure's all mine."

Hala's grip is powerful, and his handshake, exuberant. His arm feels like a damn skipping rope. Once freed, Piers flexes his hand behind his back to get the blood flowing back in.

"Us Kahunas were quite surprised when you reached out to us asking about a concert. To think that someone would come all the way from Galar to perform on our humble islands!" Hala spreads his arms with a grin.

"Yeah, it was, uh... Wanted to perform someplace out of the way to end things. Happy to be here."

He's been spoiled by how easy it is to chat with Guzma. Conversing with anyone new is still hard.

"And how has your stay been so far? I hear you've been set up at the resort."

"It's nice," he says, unable to admit that out of the two nights he's been in Alola, he slept a lot better in Po Town. "Very, er... high-class."

_Too high-class._

Hala seems to spy right through his politeness. "I prefer places that are a little homier myself," the Kahuna chuckles. "Nothing wrong with a little indulgence now and again, of course. Now, what was it you brought for Guzma?"

Guzma perks up. Oh, the coffee!

He forces his arm to extend, offering the drink he brought all the way from the city at the dock.

"Brought you this. Hope you like coffee." Piers suddenly remembers about the training regimen and backpedals. "Er, if you're allowed to have it. You're in the middle of somethin', right...?"

Hala laughs, patting his belly as he does. "I suppose I can give him a break. He's been at it for a good while. I'll be in the house, let me know when you're ready to continue, my boy." The Kahuna waves and strolls away, leaving the two alone.

Once Hala is out of earshot, they both relax.

"Finally. Thought he'd never leave." Guzma grabs the drink, rips the lid off, and starts chugging it right there.

With no one watching them, Piers is free to stare at Guzma's throat as he downs the drink. Some of it spills over the corner of Guzma's mouth, and a drop of coffee makes its way down a strong chin, slipping along the prominent tendon down the side of Guzma's neck and blending with the sweat over shiny skin. Sweet and salty both...

Piers snaps his eyes back up when the cup lowers, empty of all but the ice, and is met with an easy smile that he attempts to return.

"Thanks man, I really needed that." He looks more energetic already. "Hala loves workin' my ass off."

"No prob..." He falters when Guzma hunches forward and the tank top is suddenly stripped. "...lem."

He averts his eyes. He's seen Guzma shirtless before, but it was mostly his tattooed back. He isn't ready to see _this._ 'This' being a bare, beefy, sweaty chest no doubt gleaming in the sunlight. They might have agreed to be adults over their attraction to each other, but why tempt fate? Why tempt it with muscles that are _glistening_?

Oblivious to his tiny crisis, Guzma throws back the cup again and goes for some ice. They crunch between his teeth, and Piers awkwardly waits for him to finish before saying something.

"Glad ya don't seem hungover."

Guzma lowers the cup, looking sheepish. "About that..."

"What, you are? Not surprised given how much you put away last night. Your liver's somethin' special, alright."

"Nah, nah, I mean..." From the corner of his eye, Guzma ruffles his hair. Tousles it up. What a mop, Piers wants to comb it all down with his fingers. "Y'see..."

What could it be, he wonders. A thank you, maybe? Or a 'sorry for the trouble?' 'Sorry for kissing you,' that would be a good one.

"I wanted to apologize about yesterday's... everythin'." Ah, a generic apology. "I know I already did, but I wanted to say it when I was sober. Not blackout fuckin' drunk, you know?"

...Blackout? That's got to be an exaggeration, surely.

Now worried, Piers finally looks over at Guzma and _crap,_ nope, distracted by the chest. That certainly is a fine example of a chest. His intuition was right, it _is_ gleaming in the sun. It could blind someone at the right angle. And here he is, not looking away.

"No need to say sorry..." he mumbles, glancing over tan lines that he'd love to trace with his fingers. Guzma wipes a forearm across his forehead and the emergency spurs him into breaking line of sight before he gets too taken by how the generous pectoral flexes.

"Yeah there is. Ya basically had to take care of me. I'm sure I wasn't that easy to do that for. I can get a little handsy when I'm drunk."

What an understatement. Piers sighs and hooks a finger into his choker. "Yeah, I learned."

Guzma cringes. "I, uh... don't remember a lot of what happened. Most of what happened, really. Could ya maybe... remind me of some stuff?"

Piers' jaw drops.

He doesn't remember... Not any of it? The rambling, the crying, the hugging, the comforting? That lick he gave Piers' neck? The fucking kiss?

Just his luck. Of fucking course Guzma would forget all of it. There were empty bottles everywhere, drained clean. The real surprise is how the drunkard stayed as coherent as he did for so long.

Eyes narrowed, Piers sets a hand on his hip and rolls his head back. "I dunno if you wanna hear about what 'appened. It _was_ pretty bad," he confirms with a shrug.

"H-Hey, come on. Ya gotta tell me. Do you wanna go somewhere more private first or what?"

"What difference will that make?" He arches an unimpressed brow. "We're the only ones up here. Unless..." A grin curls his lip. "You think you'll be embarrassed by what ya did last night. The _multiple_ things ya did."

Guzma glances around, and without warning, grabs his arm and drags him around behind Hala's house. He's helpless to follow, stumbling along behind a purposeful stride.

Once hidden away in the shade behind the house, Guzma spins around and slaps his hand against the wall next to Piers' shoulder, essentially trapping him. It... doesn't really have any effect beyond the initial shock value. Guzma's not tall enough to effectively intimidate him like this. Doesn't stop him from trying, apparently, so he gets points for that.

"Alright, man. Tell me. The fuck happened last night, I gotta know what I did."

Piers straightens against the wall and looks down his nose at the determined set to Guzma's brow. "Tell me what you do remember first."

Guzma grumbles. "I remember... gettin' drunk. You comin' over. I said some shit about my ex... oh. I told you about more shit I did, huh? You said you forgave me?" Guzma pauses, closes his eyes, and leans his head back, in deep frowning thought. "After that... 'fraid I don't remember."

That's _it?_ Less than he hoped, but better than nothing...

"Dude, c'mon. What else happened?" Guzma pries and drops his arm.

Piers clicks his tongue in disappointment and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and looking directly down at his black-coated nails.

"Well, you cried a lot, for one thing. And you said you did want to be friends with me after all. Which made me very happy to hear," he testily says. "Then there was some clingin' and more cryin', and oh yeah, handsy doesn't even _begin_ to cover it."

Try licky. And kissy. Whiny-clingy-touchy. Nothing Piers couldn't handle.

And nothing he truly minded, in the end.

_(Would you mind if he kissed you again now?)_

He curls his lip at himself.

_Shut it, I do not need this right now._

He _cried? And_ clung?

That seems pretty accurate for drunk him. Nothing too wild or crazy there. But he can sense there's more that Piers isn't telling him with how the guy fidgets and blocks his chest with crossed arms.

"There's somethin' yer not tellin' me."

He's got a hunch what it is, but he's not sure if he should _say_ it. What if he's wrong? He'll look like a total fool.

Fuck it though.

"Did... I do anythin' else to ya?" he starts, clarifying after Piers raises another brow.

"Ye—"

"Like, did we fuck last night?"

"No!" Piers does a double take and straightens, arms dropping and hands flattening against the smooth surface. "Look, you were totally off yer trolley last night, but nothin' you did was that bad."

Nuh uh. Not good enough. He fixes Piers with a look that says he needs more detail. Piers groans and reaches up to toy with his choker.

"Fine, ugh. You licked me, for one thing. Kissed my neck and licked it like a bloody popsicle." Piers rolls his eyes and tugs harder on the ring as pink stains his cheeks. "Happy?"

He what.

Of all the things to fucking forget! It's kind of surprising that Piers doesn't seem that bothered by it, other than being embarrassed. He gets the sense he wasn't slapped for it last night, and Piers was friendly enough this morning, meaning...

Piers either thought it was no big deal, or maybe, just maybe, he liked it. Enjoyed getting licked by the big bad boss. Fuck, though, of all the things to not remember! They had that whole agreement to not bang that he's majorly regretting now, and the one crumb he got is wiped from his memory, because the universe hates him.

"No, I'm not happy. It's not like I _wanted_ to forget. Fuck, I'd love to remember doin' that to ya!"

"You—okay, I take it back, who cares that you can't remember diddly fuckin' squat. I ain't tellin' ya nothin' no more, this conversation's over."

Like hell it is.

He smirks up at that blush, pressing his hands to the wall on either side of his flustered friend. "Hey, c'mon, I'm already pissed for forgettin' what ya tasted like. Maybe I could... refresh my memory, if you won't do it for me?"

He slides his tongue out with a smile. Much like the face Piers did when Guzma asked if the carpet matched the drapes.

"Fuck _off,_ you stupid cunt." Piers' face is burning scarlet and he's trying to hide it with a scowl. It's not working. "I'll tell you everythin' already."

He smirks and backs off. He's successfully gotten the reaction he'd wanted, so he'll spare his friend... for now.

"Somethin' else that 'appened was I took ya to bed and ya tried flirtin', but despite your best efforts I did not have sex with you. That not ring any bleedin' bells?"

"Nah, I do remember doin' somethin' like that. Everything's comin' back to me. Still a li'l fuzzy, but there."

Now he remembers telling Piers he _could_ have his way with him if he'd wanted. And he remembers Piers saying no, in a really intense and caring way. And... he asked Piers to do something else? Geez, last night was action packed. Normally when he gets wasted all that happens is he throws an angsty tantrum in his room by himself and wakes up with his face all sticky and gross.

"Joy," Piers drawls. The scowl on his face is so unlike what he remembers of the man from last night. The Piers last night was patient and caring with his drunk ass even after he got all inappropriate. Does that count as bonding? Probably.

"Sorry, man. I'm a mix of sad and horny drunk. Never does work well together, but that's what ya get with me." He shrugs. "You can still stay and hang out. Hala—don't tell him I said this, but, he's a good guy. He'll keep ya company."

Before he can draw away, a pale hand shoots out and grasps his bare shoulder. Fuck, his hand is cold.

"Wait. There's—there's one more thing you oughta know. It's the last of it, I promise." Piers tugs him until they're standing square to each other, leans down until they're eye to eye, and speaks in a soft, personal voice that immediately has Guzma on guard. "You wanted to cuddle. So we did, I laid with you for a bit."

His eyes go wide and his heart does a thud. Cuddled...?

Fuck, who cares about the licking, they cuddled! Fuck, he'd give anything to know what position they were in. Spooning? Did he get to big spoon Piers? Or maybe he got Piers to lie on top of him. Or fuck, maybe... maybe they faced each other and hugged. Piers' face against his chest, or vice versa...

His face burns. All those possibilities sound amazing, but it doesn't even matter because he can't remember a thing no matter how hard he digs into his nonexistent memory.

Piers squeezes his shoulders and leans in closer, lowers his voice further, and continues the confession. With each word, Piers pushes, until his bare back nudges the wall.

"It was nice, I admit. But then... you went and got horny over it, bruv. Pulled me in all close..." Piers leans down and takes his chin with a feather-light nudge. "And kissed me..." The words ghost across his lips.

Guzma's breath catches in his chest. Piers is too close, way too close, and he suddenly can't handle it. The way the rockstar is looming over him, trapping him against the wall... The tables turned out of his favor in an instant.

"I- I did what?"

"You heard me."

What's he supposed to do about it? Flirt again? Apologize?

After a few moments, he finally musters the willpower to mumble. "Sorry, man. I was fuckin'... blackout. Shouldn't've done that."

"Right you are about that." A cold thumb rolls close to his lip. "I'm half-tempted to get payback."

A warm shiver skitters down his spine. Payback. That can only mean one thing. He licks his lips, suddenly not minding his position against the wall so much.

"But... you should get back to work. Don't wanna keep ya for too long." The hand falls away and Piers draws back with a self-satisfied smirk.

Whoa, no way, it was just getting good! This ain't over until he says it's over.

"What, too scared to do it? Too much of a wuss to stand up to destruction in human form?"

The look Piers gives him is less impressed than he'd like. "You're unbelievable."

Before he can react, Piers swoops down, shoves him against the wall, and kisses him. That cold hand is back at his jaw, feathery bangs tickle his face, Piers tastes like sweet coffee and morning rain and—

It's over too soon. He blinks and stares at the prominent collarbones in front of his face. Fuck, did Piers get taller? No, he just slid down the wall a little. Didn't even realize his knees got all weak.

" _Destruction in human form_ ain't much in the end, it seems," Piers says, incredibly smug.

Guzma can only gape, unable to put any words together in the face of how fucking hot Piers looks right now, smirking and coy and licking his lips and turning on a heel.

"By the way, love," Piers throws over his shoulder with a flick of his hair. "You taste better sober."

He swallows and stares like a dumbass as the other strides away, hips tilting with every step as he vanishes around the corner and out of sight. Now it's just him and the sound of his heartbeat to keep him company.

His fingers drift to his lips. He may have pushed for that kiss, but he wasn't expecting it to affect him this much. Why's his heart beating so damn fast? It was just one kiss! Practically nothing! Must be from the work he did. Or maybe he's too hot from the sun? Probably the shock of what happened, right? Yeah. That has to be it. Why else would he react like that? It was just a dumb kiss.

Guzma stubbornly ignores the other man as he walks back into the sunshine. He strides up to Hala's door and pounds on it, yelling through the wood. "Hey! Old man! I'm gettin' back to work!"

He doesn't have to wait long. Hala bursts through the door with a laugh. "Wonderful! You have a lot of trees to get through!" Hala's eyes land on the Galarian with another damn twinkle while Guzma stalks back to where he dropped those shears. Piers is more than welcome to deal with the old man by himself.

Guzma storms off with shears in hand once more, and Piers can't help but smirk at that red face trudging by. He won that last interaction and will ride that high for as long as he can. Guzma's face when he realized he'd been kissed...

"So, you're staying?" Hala grins.

"Figured I might as well," he says, eyes still on Guzma's retreat. The sun is sourcing some very nice highlights and shadows down those tense back muscles and he no longer feels much shame in staring.

"Why don't you come inside? I'd hate to make a guest stand in the heat after walking all the way here! Come in, come in!"

Before he can think to protest, he's ushered into the house and sat down with a glass of iced tea thrust into his hand. Great, he's managed to avoid trying tea iced throughout this tour, but he can't just refuse a drink from a Kahuna hosting him. Oh well, he was never known to be a snob about how tea is prepared anyways.

Hala gets comfortable in a chair opposite him. Broad hands fold over a large stomach, and near the peak of the stout mountain the man's body makes, a sly look beams forth and pins him in place.

"So. What were you two doing behind my house, hmm?"

The ice in the glass clinks, jostled from the sudden tension in Piers' hand.

_How much does he know. He wasn't eavesdropping, was he?_

"...We talked." Piers pulls the glass to his mouth and lets a sip eke through his lips.

As if he's about to spill the beans on what happened back there. Joke or not, it's bad form to kiss and tell. He can hardly believe he was that bold to begin with, kissing Guzma like that after only a little teasing. Since when has he been so easily provoked?

Hala breaks his concentration with a laugh. "I won't pry. I can tell you two get along splendidly."

Pride puts a crack in his vow of secrecy.

"Yeah. We do." He can't help himself, he's got to declare it. "We're friends."

The smile Piers gets is so warm and wide he has to look away before he feels too hot. He swirls the ice and takes another drink. Cold, sweet. Balances things out nicely. Drinking tea cold on purpose is weird, but... this isn't bad.

"Thank you for being his friend, Piers. He really needs them, especially right now."

The ice spins to a slow stop. "...What d'you mean by that?"

Hala sighs, and for the first time, his smile loses its cheer. "He's had a difficult time trying to prove himself to others on the islands. I'm sure you've seen it. People aren't too keen on forgiving him that easily."

"Yeah, seen it firsthand. People are right nasty even to his face."

"Does it faze you?" The look Hala gives him is curious, but the serious backdrop to his expression gives Piers pause.

"Me? No, I don't see why it should. I'm worried about him more than anythin'."

That answer seems to please the old man. "Good, good... He needs more people worrying about him."

This interaction is very odd. Being talked to about Guzma isn't new, but this time—

The realization digs Piers in the gut. Hala is the one person so far who's been both openly kind to Guzma _and_ talks about him like an equal. Team Skull loves their boss, yeah, but they see him as leader and protector, not a peer.

Piers' mouth falls open, but he has nothing to say. Hala casts him a sympathetic look and refolds his hands over his middle.

"I've known Guzma a long time, since he was just a boy. He's always had trouble with his anger and trusting people. Of course, now I know why." Hala's stomach swells with a sigh. "With his most cherished friend, Plumeria, busy trying to better her life, he's been having a hard time. I'm glad he has you to trust while you're here."

Hala's the first person to mention a Plumeria. Piers files that away to ask about later. It's a relief to know that Guzma wasn't totally alone all this time; he had someone with him, a trusted friend. She might be absent for now, or maybe even gone entirely, but at least Piers is there to... fill in the gap. No, that's a bad way of thinking of it. Piers isn't replacing anyone's company, just like Guzma isn't replacing anyone's company for him.

"He trusts me?" is all he can think to ask.

"Oh yes. I can see it." The twinkle rekindles back to Hala's eye. "How long have you two known each other?"

He counts back the days. "First met him mornin' before yesterday... This is our third day seein'—er, spendin' time together."

Phrasing...

"And you're already getting along so well!" Hala beams.

"We were at each other's throats at the start," he modestly admits. "Still are, sometimes. But we get on, yeah..."

"That does sound like Guzma. He tends to be difficult to get along with, for the unprepared, but certain types of people seem to mesh with him very well. It brings me joy to see him spending time with someone new."

Piers sits up a little straighter. He shouldn't let this get to his head, but it's hard not to. He earned this, dammit. He's allowed to feel proud of himself.

"You don't mind all his yellin'?" he queries, taking another cold sip of tea. "Or bein' called old man all the time?"

Hala guffaws and shakes his head. "No, no, not at all. I've heard and done my fair share of yelling. I'm also used to his own special brand of endearing terms. It doesn't bother me in the least."

He blinks in surprise. Endearing? Piers is no stranger to insults as terms of fondness; he shouldn't be so surprised, but for Guzma to do or say anything _endearing_ after knowing each other for less than three days is absurd. Speaking of endearing terms, that reminds him... He forgot to ask Guzma behind the house, but the tosser probably wouldn't have explained anyways. This might be the perfect opportunity to find out what the hell Guzma called him last night.

"Hey... He's called me something in Alolan that he refused to tell me the meanin' of. Think I remember what it was..." He furrows his brows and slouches in thought, trying to pull the soundbites out of yesterday's memory and wrap his mouth around the unfamiliar shapes. Got to fight his accent down to manage. "...Hoa pili?"

Hala's eyes widen as he leans forward in his chair. "He called you that?"

Piers shifts and sets the half-empty glass down on the coffee table.

"It's not somethin' bad, is it?" His knees press together and his chilled hands tangle in his lap.

Hala sighs. "Well. He called you his friend, but this specific term means more than that. It means a close, dear friend. An _intimate_ friend, even, depending on how you choose to define 'intimate.'" Hala leans back in his chair, exhaling. "I've only heard him use that to refer to Plumeria before. He definitely feels intensely for you."

Intimate friend...?

Piers' mind races. That could be interpreted a couple ways. One is fuckbuddy. Which is wrong, since they agreed not to bother with sex. The other is... well, what it says on the tin. Intimate friend. Like what he has with Raihan, minus the sex in this case. Hugging, kissing, cuddling, emotional closeness... Nicknames...

The idea that Guzma might want to have _that_ with him has his heart skipping up in tempo. Hoa pili sounds perfect. If Hala's right about Guzma feeling intensely for him, then... then if he tries a little harder, they can reach that. He wants to reach that.

Across from him, Hala's gaze presses harder and harder against his conscience until he feels like he has to speak.

"That sounds really nice, t'be honest." His face heats, but he can't bring himself to be shy about it in front of Hala. If Hala's on Guzma's side, he can't be untrustworthy.

"Thank you fer tellin' me." He takes his tea and drains the rest in one sweet swallow. "I won't let it go to waste."

"Good." Hala nods firmly. "He doesn't let just anyone get close. He must have seen something in you that made him trust you."

This indirect praise is getting to be too much. He needs a subject change before his heart implodes.

Hala seems to sense his emotional overload. "Would you like more tea? You still look warm."

"N-No, no, I'm... thank you." He clears his throat with a pathetic cough. "Sorry. Not used to this Alolan heat." He tugs at the low neck of his tank top. "Damn near kills me sometimes, walkin' all over Ula'Ula..."

Hala's brows shoot upward. "To visit Guzma? On foot? How many times have you made the trip?"

"Er..."

Let's see... First he was escorted by Nanu all the way to Po Town, then he and Guzma walked back around the island to get his Pokémon back, then Piers came back later that night to return the jacket, then they went back to Malie _again_ yesterday to get lunch, and Piers marched fuming back to Po Town to confront an absolutely leathered Guzma...

"Somethin' like a half dozen times," he huffs. "Ain't that bad when I've got someone with me, but doin' it alone ain't a walk in the park. Awful hike."

"Why, you're a determined one! Just as stubborn as Guzma." Hala chuckles and hefts himself up. "One moment, I'll fetch you something useful."

Hala strolls back into the room not a minute later with something in his hand. It's lime green, the span of a smartphone, and holds an opalescent sphere at the top, the size of a pokeball. Is it a pokeball?

"Here you are. This should save you some time when trying to reach your new friend. I'm surprised you haven't been given one already. My apologies, Piers, for making your stay in Alola that much more difficult."

"No problem, I managed." Although he'll take any help he can get.

Piers takes the device and weighs it in his hand. He's got no clue how to work this thing. Can't hurt to experiment by pushing some buttons.

The screen blinks on and a bright list of Pokémon runs down the screen. Seeing the descriptions helps it click. It's a ride pager, just like Guzma mentioned! Bigger than he thought they'd be, how do they work? The ball must contain the means to hold the different Pokémon from the list, what interesting technology. Nothing beats a good old fashioned Corviknight flight, but he'll take what he can get.

Tauros, Lapras, Mudsdale, those all make sense... Oh, a Charizard! He can fly after all!

...Why is there a Machamp? That's such a strange option. What do they do, give you a piggyback ride?

Before he can ask Hala for details, the door to the house bursts open and the ride pager nearly falls out of his hands. "Hey, old man! I'm done with all the trees you said!"

Hala beams and turns to face the person who nearly broke down his door. "Wonderful! That'll be enough for today. You've done well, my boy. I'll have someone else do the rest."

Guzma smiles and pumps his arm, muttering a "Yes!" to himself as Hala turns back round to face his guest.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Piers. Have a wonderful time in Alola. You're in good hands." Hala throws him an inexplicable wink and strolls out of the house, presumably to check Guzma's work.

Guzma strides over, a bounce in his step. "Finally. Thought I'd never be done!"

So enthusiastic, it's adorable. Smile hidden in the time it takes to set aside the ride pager, Piers rises to greet him.

"You look like you've still got some energy. I thought Hala was supposed to wear you out," he comments with a fleeting once-over.

Shirtless, sweating, and beautiful.

"This was nothin'. I'm stronger than ya think, boo."

Boo?

Nicknames.

_Intimate friends._

Piers straightens out of his slouch as motivation surges through his veins, but he still can't bring himself to look Guzma in the eye as he asks. His gaze naturally settles a bit lower than that.

"Since you're not dead yet... D'you wanna maybe hang out? If you're free?"

Wait. Fuck. He was staring at Guzma's chest that whole time. He flicks his gaze up to look Guzma in the eye properly, hoping he didn't... yeah, he noticed. Lovely.

The subject of his shameless ogling smirks. "Sure. We can hang out more. 'S long as ya keep yer eyes up here." Guzma makes a circular motion around his face.

Okay, he deserved that callout. Piers tears his eyes away completely with a cough. Better safe than sorry.

"I'll manage. Anywhere you wanna show me?"

"Wanna go see Nanu? He has those Alolan Meowth, y'know. Dark type, 'member?"

Piers scrunches his nose. He's not really keen on seeing that cranky codger again. He does have business with him, but it feels so soon to just pop over right now.

"Dunno..." He is curious to see what an Alolan Meowth looks like... Especially if they're natively dark. "They cute?" He can concede an early visit to the copper if they're cute.

"Some people think they're cute. Nanu's fuckin' obsessed with them, but he's always had weird taste, so I guess you'll have ta find out for yourself, won'tcha?" Cheeky as always, Guzma sticks his tongue out and walks backwards out of the house. "Lemme grab my stuff and I'll be ready."

When Guzma turns around with his spare shirt donned, he's greeted with the sight of Piers striding out of the house with an excited spark to his step. He's hunched over a ride pager—when did he get that?—fiddling with the device until a grin of triumph spreads on his face.

"Hah! Got it!"

Piers pops the ball out of the pager and holds it straight out. In a flash, a Charizard appears, all saddled up. It stretches its neck and sniffs the air to get its bearings, already bent low to accept a rider.

Oh, no. Please no.

Piers strides up to the Charizard, marveling like it's the first time he's ever seen one up close. "Used to ridin' dragons bareback... Oi, Guz, lookit this chap, all dressed up."

Guzma visibly gulps, throat bobbing. He knows what's coming and he doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"Heh, yeah, uh..." He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of something to say that doesn't give away his apprehension. "He looks real spiffy."

Oblivious to his reluctance, Piers pulls his ponytail loose. Just like the first time, it's incredibly distracting, even more so since it's in the sunlight. That gloss is insane. He doesn't think he's staring as bad as Piers was at his chest earlier, but still. It's gotta be pretty bad, especially once Piers starts weaving it into a fucking _braid._ Looking good in so many hairstyles should be illegal.

A hard thump on his back snaps him out of it.

"The hell!" He tears his focus away. When did Hala come back? He's got that damn twinkle in his eye. "Don't go scarin' me like that, shit."

A loud guffaw smacks his ears and his shoulder is clapped a few more times. "Scared to ride a Charizard? Or is something else occupying your thoughts?"

"Nothin' ain't occupyin' shit!" He jerks his shoulder up to get Hala's hand off of him. "Mind ya damn business."

Damn, the old man looks even more nosy than usual. The hell is up with him?

"Done chewin' air over there?" Piers calls out. "What're ye waitin' on?"

Both Alolans look over. Piers sits pretty on the saddle, hair plaited in a neat line down his arched back, wrists draped over the handlebars like he's on a magazine cover.

What _was_ he waiting on, again?

"Uh..." Guzma can't think of shit to say when Piers casually adjusts himself on the seat, hips tilting to pull himself forward.

Hala covers for him in the worst way possible. "He's just a bit nervous."

That snaps him out of it.

"I ain't used ta flyin', is all!" He eyes the dragon. Thing's starting to look impatient. He thought they were gonna take the ferry, walk around, get time to chat and get to know each other more while walking on the trusty, reliable ground.

"And I ain't used to ridin' speedy Golisopods. Come on, my turn to be in a comfort zone."

Piers reaches down for him, and that upturned palm makes him think that maybe this won't be so bad after all. It's just one flight, how awful could it even be. Gotta be nothing to it, piece of cake!

He grabs the outstretched hand, using it as leverage to lift himself up onto the back of the giant Charizard. Once seated, he loosely wraps his arms around Piers' middle. He doesn't dare hug it any tighter in case his stupid brain starts getting stupid ideas.

"Sure you don't wanna hang on a little tighter?" Piers shifts on the saddle, and by proxy, against him. "Charizards have powerful takeoffs."

He huffs an annoyed breath and doesn't move his arms one bit. "I'm sure, a'ight? Le's just get goin' alrea-DY—"

A sharp roar is his only warning. Their ride's wings sweep high and slam towards the earth, blasting them skyward with the help of a powerful leap straight vertical. The Charizard rockets into the air and leaves his stomach behind. Fuck! His arms lock tight around Piers' waist and he shoves his face into the loose braid in front of him.

This is nothing like riding on Gol and he hates it! There's no sea breeze, no sound or feel of ocean spray, only roaring wind and vertigo and... is Piers laughing? It's hard to hear any shit over the wind, but by now he'd recognize that sound anywhere.

Even after the initial shock of the take-off wears down and they smooth into soaring, Guzma keeps his face pressed between Piers' shoulders and doesn't loosen his hug one bit. To keep his mind off the lurching sensations of flight and how far away the ground must be below them, he focuses on the solidity of the man he's pressed against, and on the memory of the sound of his laughter in the wind.

. . .

The massive dragon lands with a heavy thud, rattling Guzma to the core in a nauseatingly abrupt way.

He's gonna puke if he doesn't get on solid ground right now. He's so dizzy his limbs won't listen, so in his scramble to dismount the overgrown lizard, he kind of forgets to properly let go of Piers.

"Oh—shite!" Piers yelps as they topple. The Charizard sweeps its tail to break their fall, and they slide right off it onto the ground. "Arse, let go a' me!"

Guzma doesn't listen, he's too busy loving the solid dirt beneath his back, and the weight of Piers on top of him. Thank fuck. The sky's spinning but the only wind is a light breeze and everything is blessedly solid, including the bony body on top of him. Wouldn't be so bad to lay here for a while.

He shakes his head, forcing those thoughts away, and sits straight up with a miserable groan, holding Piers tighter in his lap. "Thought I was boutta lose my lunch up there. Ugh..."

"Call that a taste of empathy." A cold, wind-bitten hand smushes against his face and pushes him back. His arms loosen and he flops onto his back again. "I'd say we're even."

"Tch..." He glares up at Piers, at first not realizing their compromising position. When it does hit him, it hits hard. Piers perches on him, bangs swaying in the breeze, and the low angle is... goddamn. Wouldn't mind seeing that more often. He looks to the clear sky, heat rising to his cheeks. "Whatever ya say, toots."

He'd usually have a snarkier remark ready to launch, but this position is a little too much for him. Piers looks way too good from this angle. Fucking jawline. Fucking throat. Is it weird for a chin to be cute? What the fuck.

He startles when Piers leans over him. A long braid slips over Piers' shoulder and hits the side of his face, and because he's recently discovered that Piers is some kind of sadist, he manages to keep whatever remains of his wits when a rough fingertip draws down the bridge of his nose and stops on the tip. He goes cross-eyed tracking it.

"Flyin' really ain't your cuppa, huh?"

He swallows. "'S _not._ I like bein' more near the ground."

He's really powerless right now. Not entirely sure if he wants Piers to get up or not. He doesn't want to just _shove_ the guy off. That'd be too harsh. If anything, he'd like to sit up again, gently lay Piers back, maybe even trade spots... trace shapes over _his_ face...

"...You can get offa me now," he says instead, face burning.

Piers' lips spread wider and those devious eyes narrow. "S'ppose I can."

Piers doesn't move. What's his game here? There's no way this is flirting. Did that one little revenge kiss actually spark something between them?

His heart thuds in his chest at the idea. He could always just... ask. Get things out in the open so they can go forward from there, or get closure on something that turned out to be his imagination. Maybe ask what Piers is thinking right now? They both confessed their attraction already, so that's not _too_ forward, is it? It wouldn't be weird to ask, right?

"Hey, uh—"

"Oh, look, we're right by Nanu's." Piers finally, finally gets up, and Guzma's way too conscious of the loss of light weight. "Let me just get this chap sent away..."

Dammit. Maybe it really was just his imagination. What's wrong with him.

He scrambles to his feet and dusts himself off as Piers fiddles with the ride pager. They're right on Route 17. The station is right around the corner there. He's gotta get ahold of himself before knocking on the grandpa's door. No way is he letting Nanu of all people catch him looking flustered.

Teasing Guzma is just too fun, especially when Piers has the upper hand. The way Guz looked up at him, spread out on the path in his shadow... Too delightful. Perfect retribution for the way his seasickness was mocked on day one.

He can still feel the arch of Guzma's strong nose beneath his fingertip, and he rubs over his thumb to erase it before it gets distracting.

"You ready?" Piers lilts. Guzma answers with a glare and trudges off towards Nanu's place, leaving Piers to saunter after.

Now that it's daylight, he isn't distracted by friendship endeavors, and he has the time to get a good look at the place, he can clearly see that this is a police station. Small, one-story, most likely one room, but undoubtedly a police station. Gods, the last time he set foot in one of these was quite the adventure. How fun that he's entering one willingly this time.

The two approach the front door, but Guzma stops them before Piers can knock.

"Alright, so, uh. This old fart has a lot, and I mean a _lot,_ of Meowth, but don't worry, he takes care of 'em amazingly. There's just _a lot._ So be prepared for that."

Nanu the crazy cat codger. Has a ring to it.

"I think I can handle it." How lot can a lot even be. The building doesn't look like it can fit _that_ many. Kind of weird that Nanu takes them all to his workplace. Makes sense when Nanu's here late into the evenings, too, as evidenced when Piers was returning Guzma's hoodie.

A knock on the door, and a symphony of meows filters through the wood. A few moments later, the now-familiar face of Nanu stares up at them both through the cracked doorway. He's just as unimpressed as he was when Piers last saw him, and doesn't bat an eye at the sight of them together.

Piers stays quiet, interested in how the two interact. Nanu's had Team Skull's back throughout, so there's got to be some level of friendliness, he assumes. Hopes.

"'Sup, old man." Guzma pushes past Nanu inside. Talk about overly familiar. Nanu scowls after him before piercing his gaze into Piers.

"What are you two doing here," Nanu bites, visibly annoyed. Behind him, Guzma plops down on a couch and is instantly surrounded by a cluster of Meowth.

Before he can come up with an answer, Nanu sighs and steps aside. "Whatever. Might as well come in. Guzma's already made himself at home."

The door closes behind him and he relaxes in the air conditioned room. Nanu's home is very... sparse. Bland, office-style couches, hard counters, reddish linoleum floors. An honest to god top-loaded water cooler. One of the couches in the back corner has a pillow and blanked draped over it, clear evidence of nights spend at the station.

On just about every flat surface, a food bowl or cat bed rests, and oh, yeah, there are Meowths everywhere, just as Guzma said. It's like the old man really lives here.

"Long time no see," he lamely says.

"Yeah, yeah," Nanu dismisses, and wanders towards one of the counters as a little crowd of Meowths clamber after him. "So what was your name again? Doc?"

"Er, no. I'm Piers."

"Sure. Well, I was just in the middle of feeding time. Go ahead and have a seat." Nanu nods towards the occupied couch, hands busy managing a waterfall of dry food pellets into several bowls.

He doesn't move yet. There's several cats surrounding his legs already, rubbing and pawing at him, and he's amused at how closely they're investigating him. Dark typically recognizes dark.

On the couch, Guzma's busy playing with one in his lap. Another's made its sleeping spot in that nest of fluffy white hair, sprawled with its legs hanging over Guzma's face. He's itching to take a picture, but doesn't want to ruin the sight in case Guzma doesn't want cameras in his face.

"So, what do you two want? Is there a reason you're bothering me?"

"We just came to visit ya, damn. No need to be all grumpy, grandpa," Guzma says, rolling his eyes and wiggling his fingers over the Pokémon in his lap. "Piers here wanted to properly chat with ya, ain't that right?"

"What? Oh, yeah." He tears his eyes off the adorable sight and moves to have a seat next to his friend, mindful of all the curious cats.

Not even a second after he's sat down, a pair try to make his lap their new bed, but there's only room for one. To appease the one that was just a bit too slow, he guides it to his side and lets it bat at his fingers. "Heard you're a dark type user like me. Rare to meet 'em, even after I've been travelin' around the world on tour. Nice to meet someone else who appreciates them."

Although with this many Meowth wandering around, 'appreciate' might be too weak a word.

"Likewise," Nanu begrudges, toting full food bowls.

Guzma throws an arm around the back of the couch.

Now that he's seated and looking around, he can see the staggering number of cats the old man has. They're on the floor, on chairs, all around Nanu's feet begging for food, coming up on the couch with them... They're all a lovely purple, how cute. They seem much more laid back than Galarian Meowths, with their dishwater-brown coats and generally unhinged demeanors. These here are real cuties. Their faces kind of remind him of Raihan. Lidded eyes, fangs, the cute curl of the mouth.

"Never seen this type of Meowth before, it's fascinatin'. Love the color." The one in his lap senses the praise and rolls onto its back in a languid stretch. His lips quirk into a smile at the showing-off. "And the style. Tsk, aw... You like attention, wee thing?"

Definitely reminds him of Rai.

"Yeah, I'm a big fan of their coats, too." Nanu replies. He sets the food bowls down and picks one of his babies up, cradling it and scratching under its chin. "You can take one of these little guys home, if you'd like."

The Meowth purrs and rolls around again. "You'd trust me with one?"

"Sure. You seem like a good kid. You'll be fine. And it seems like that one," Nanu points accusatory-like right at the Meowth in his lap, "already took a shine to you."

Praise from Nanu is the last thing he was expecting. Weird to be called a kid, too. Been a long time...

"Cute little bugger. Sure, I'll bring 'im back with me to Galar." The Meowth purrs in response. "My other Pokémon should get along."

Goony's a sucker for befriending little ones no matter what kind of Pokémon they are. Scrafty's less anxious around those his size, and Skuntank is Skuntank. Mal... she's got a socialization schedule of her own that they can worry about later. Toxtricity and all the ziggies should be happy with a new friend too.

If there's one thing Piers can say that being a Gym Leader was good for, retired or no, it's the relaxed restrictions regarding carting Pokémon from region to region. The title's got plenty of built-in credibility that he won't do irresponsible shite with Pokémon, like turn non-native ones loose or breed them unsupervised. A little foreign Meowth will be no trouble at all.

"That reminds me, Guzma." Nanu leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. "Was it you who stole his Pokémon the other day? You're not back to that shit, are you?"

Everything freezes save for the playful Pokémon meowing and wandering around for attention. Nanu patiently waits for an answer, unperturbed as can be after such a cutting accusation.

Guzma tenses and sneers, throwing himself into a standing position and sending all the nearby cats scattering, including the one in Piers' lap.

"Why does everyone fuckin' assume that? The minute something goes wrong it's always my fault! I didn't do shit this time!"

Nanu nonchalantly shrugs. "We have every right to assume you were behind it. It's going to take a long time for people to start trusting you again, kid."

The old man's words only accelerate the lit fuse. Guzma's hands flex, unflex, reflex even tighter at his sides and his jaw grinds like he's trying to rip through leather. Piers perches the edge of the couch, glancing between the two men and trying to gauge who to get in front of if this escalates, but before anything blows up, Guzma snarls and whirls towards the door.

"I'm the fuck outta here."

Piers shoots to his feet. "Guzma, wait—"

Already gone. Door's slammed shut.

Well, that's just roses, ain't it.

_Better than him staying and getting stressed enough to throw a punch. This is for the best, innit._

Piers heaves a sigh and covers his face with a hand. He should have anticipated this, should have known the theft incident would still be a sore spot. A lingering stain Guzma doesn't need on his already-black reputation.

He drops his arm and turns to Nanu. Soon as he clears this up, he's going to fly outside and find his friend to comfort him.

"Shoulda told you sooner, my fuckin' fault," he grinds. "T'weren't Guzma's fault my Pokémon got stolen, it was some of his kids who broke away from the team tryin' to make it on their own. Guzma helped me get 'em back, set those kids straight and proper. Like a responsible adult."

"Did he now," Nanu drawls, clearly not believing a single word.

He tries another angle. "You said it'll take a while for people to trust 'im again. Why not make things go quicker by 'avin' some faith yourself?"

"Easier said than done, kid. People lost their Pokémon for good because of what he did. You think that's something people can just put behind them?" Nanu sets the Meowth in his arms down. It lazily makes its way to one of its friends and starts grooming, oblivious to the tension in the room.

"It's good you got your team back, and it's good that he helped, but it's still Guzma's fault those kids did that in the first place. Back then, he'd send them out to bully kids on their trials, steal their Z-Crystals, steal their Pokémon. For some of those kids, that's all they knew." Nanu saunters up and lays a hand on his shoulder, and he goes disproportionately stiff for how gentle the touch is.

"It's fine to believe in his redemption, but to blindly put your trust in him as a person is a mistake. Stay this naive and he's gonna end up hurting you."

_He already has. But he didn't mean to, and we got over it together. He really wants to do good._

He knocks the hand off his shoulder with a grimacing glare and takes a step back. "He'd never. Not on purpose," he spits.

He knows it's naive to make open claims like that about a man he's only known for three days. Outright stupid, more like. But he trusts his gut until proven otherwise, always has. One stiff old man won't be enough to make him falter.

"So you think." Nanu's garnet-red eyes are oppressive. Authoritative. This is a Kahuna, Piers is reminded. One of the people in charge of Alola. Boss of the entire island. A place Piers is a mere guest in.

He stiffly sits back down on the couch. The Meowth from before—he assumes it's the same one—mewls and paws at his arm, but it doesn't do a thing to calm him down. His blood still buzzes with indignance; he's not out of the bout yet.

"I know he won't hurt me. He's not a bad person at heart."

Nanu rolls his eyes, patronizing in body language and tone. "Can you really make that call about him? You barely know the guy."

His teeth grit. His hands are itching to raise to his choker, but he refuses to betray any sign of discomfort.

"I know Guzma's done terrible things. But he did it for his family, that's what makes the difference. I know what it's like to want more for your people, I _know_ how it feels when you can't do shite for them no matter how hard ya try. A' least he _did_ make an impact, that's more'n I can say about me! Why can't people see him for the good he's tryin' to do?"

He's getting dangerously heated. Chances are he'll say something he'll regret if he keeps on like this, but like hell does he give a shit at this point.

Nanu's voice slides into a more intense volume and Piers matches every decibel with a degree of straighter posture and deeper scowl. " _You_ don't know _what_ he did, kid. How bad it was. Why the people here have every right to not trust him."

"Yes I do! I know everythin', I looked it all up, an' he confessed everythin' when he was drunk off his arse last night! I know he was in the wrong. Ain't denyin' that! But he's workin' to do _better,_ people should give him the space to show it instead of kickin' his arse with their eyes every time they see him!"

He is sick of people insisting he's ignorant. He knows everything now, no one has the right to say he's got no clue anymore. Is Hala the only Kahuna with sense around here?

"Knowing it and living it are two different things. You don't get to act like the people in my region are blind for not fawning over him like you are."

Fawning? He's not—that's ridiculous, he's being perfectly logical about everything!

Nanu pinches the bridge of his nose. "Consider this, then. Did Guzma really do all that shit for his kids' sakes alone? Did you ever stop to think he might have had other motivations for committing those crimes?"

Piers' line of thought comes to an abrupt end. He... has no idea if Guzma might have had other reasons. He can't answer other than saying no, and like fuck is he going to do that. Nanu's got the upper hand right now, and they both know it, because the old man sighs and continues on.

"Look. If all he wanted to do was help those kids, there were plenty other ways to do it. As good as you think he is, he still knowingly did things that resulted in people getting hurt, and not all for the sake of his... family. He didn't do it for them alone, you've got to consider that he had other motivations."

He slumped back down again without realizing. "Like... like what?"

"You're the one who wants to get so close to him. You figure it out."

With an infuriating smirk, Nanu saunters away, stopping just before a door to look over his shoulder. "But if you want my hunch... he did it for the person he loved. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. Now go see yourself out."

The door closes behind Nanu, leaving Piers to stew alone in a sea of plaintive meows.

Nanu's sure he'll find out soon enough? What the fuck is that old man talking about? Piers already knows everything that Guzma did and why he did it. He doesn't have to know every damned little detail about his motivations too.

All that matters is that Guzma's heart was in the right place, and that he's doing _better._ Why can't everyone see that? He is sick and bleeding tired of people telling him that his new friend is some kind of monster. As if Piers is off his rocker for giving Guzma a chance. Believing what he says.

Black heat twists through his core and he silently snarls at the door Nanu left through. Fucking cynical codgers with their heads up their own wrinkly arses. What does _he_ know about why Guzma did whatever he did.

_(...Might be more than you. He's old, lived here for longer than Guzma's been alive. You know you don't have the details these people have.)_

No. He doesn't _need_ the details.

Even if he had them, who cares? Who cares if Guzma was knowingly complicit in atrocities, whether he did it for his family _or_ for the sake of some woman he was smitten with? He did it because there was someone he cared for. He did it _for them._

_(And that makes it fine? You've got to listen to yourself, mate. Sounds a lot like you're making excuses for him. Think of how that sounds to the people he's hurt. Since when were you above the people?)_

The anger steaming his head takes on a new color. Not tarry black, not heated red; it's clear. It's not _gone,_ he's still pissed to hell about what Nanu said, but it opens up whole new avenues of thought he couldn't see before.

...Thoughts like how he's been willfully blind to some of Guzma's faults and the impact of his sins.

And thoughts like how he never considered that Guzma might have had motivations other than the familial desire to care for his kids.

It never occurred to him that Guzma might have committed his crimes thanks to blind, romantic devotion.

Lusamine... Going by the shite he said about her in his drunken rambles, he loved her like she was the only person in the world he could ever have. An angel who opened her arms to him, made a loyal, unquestioning follower out of him. Is Guzma really the type of man to blindly obey whoever he thinks truly cares about him?

...If Piers told him to do terrible things, would he do them?

_I don't want to know the answer._

Piers' shoulders lose their tension like a slashed tire losing air, and once he's slumped back into his slouch, he unclenches his jaw.

As much as it sickens him to consider, Nanu had a point. He didn't even outright order Piers to think or believe one thing or another, merely laid out a path for Piers to choose to walk on his own. Damn old people and their infuriating ways of making people learn their lessons...

Nanu's not coming back out, is he. The only thing Piers can hear is meowing.

God _dammit,_ how the hell is he supposed to talk to Nanu about Po Town now? Swallow his pride and knock on the door?

He might not get another chance like this. He can't walk out on helping Po Town just because he was angry or too prideful to confront the best person to give advice.

He gets some curse words mouthed out now so they don't burst out at an inopportune time, and picks his way over to the door the old man left through. His bony knuckles give it a soft rap and he licks his lips before speaking lowly, making sure his voice is devoid of the anger he no longer holds.

"Nanu? There's somethin' else I've got to work out with you. It's not about Guzma, but I promise I'll think about what you said."

Silence. Of course... Piers fights the urge to roll his eyes into his skull. This is hard enough as it is. Nanu might not even be there, he could be talking to nothing as far as he knows.

"You said... that he might not have done those things for his kids' sakes. What if _I_ want to do something for those kids' sakes? You're the only one I can think of to take this to. Please," he grits.

The door opens, revealing Nanu standing straight with his perpetually mistrustful face and a giant bag of cat food in his arms.

"What could you possibly do for those kids?" He glares. "Free concert tickets? You think that's really gonna improve their lives?"

_Don't underestimate what exposure to the arts can do,_ he does not say. Won't help his case here.

"Not just that. I wanna help long-term."

Nanu inspects him with tired eyes, and heaves a sigh. "Fine. As Kahuna it's _my_ responsibility to take care of the kids in that wretched place, but if you really want to help, money will always do the trick." He walks over to his fridge in the tiny kitchen and grabs a notepad and pen off of the front of it. "They could always use food that keeps long-term. Hygiene supplies, clothes, anything. But funds are the most important. That way I can get my hands on whatever's needed most in the moment."

Nanu scrawls it all down along with a phone number. "There. If you have questions, or want to set up a donation, feel free to call. But don't bother me for anything stupid."

Piers snatches the paper and skims it over. The list of supplies is all doable, but like Nanu said, straight cash would be the best.

"I've got money," he says with conviction, and looks up from the chit. "I'll use my Alolan concert profits. If you promise to spend it all on Po Town, I'll give you a sum."

He's not touring for the riches or personal fame; he's doing it because he loves to sing and wants to give Spikemuth something to be proud of for once in his life. Any money he makes can go right back into the communities he cares about, and Po Town desperately needs the help. Better repairs on the houses, more food, new clothes that don't have Team Skull symbols on them, anything Piers can help obtain, he wants to do it.

"You sure about that?"

"It'll do more good here than anywhere else." He folds the note. "And... please don't tell Guzma that I'm doin' this. Not until I've left Alola, at least."

He stuffs the paper into his jeans pocket for safekeeping. A Meowth rubs against his leg and he gives it a glance. Is it the same one that was in his lap earlier?

"Your secret is no business of mine. Guzma won't find out unless you tell him. Now go run after your boyfriend. Who knows what trouble he's getting into."

"He's not my—" Nanu waves him off like one would shoo away a fly.

"Get out of here already. I have business to take care of." Nanu grabs the bag of Pokémon food and walks off with an air of finality, but pauses in the doorframe. "Just... make sure you do right by him. He needs it."

The words are so unexpected he stiffens on the spot.

"I... I will," is all he can think to say.

Nanu gives no sign he heard him. The only thing Piers can do is leave like he was told. He wades through the Meowths, having to shake off the persistent one that keeps following him before he can slip out the door. He'll have to be back for it later when he has a pokeball for it.

"Guzma?" he calls. Where the hell did he go... He stormed away in anger, so it's possible he left entirely, but Piers' gut tells him his friend didn't go too far. "Guzma, where are you, mate?"

_Fuckin' old man. Always givin' me shit. Did he have to say that shit in front of Piers? Fuckin' makin' me look bad when I do a good enough job at that myself. Damn geezer..._

His thoughts are interrupted by a strong voice calling his name. Some of his anger slips away when he recognizes who it is. Piers is looking for him. He'd better head back. Wouldn't want the guy getting lost searching for him.

After a short backtrack, he rounds a hill and shuffles into view, hands stuffed into his pockets so Piers can't see the fists they're still stuck in. "Hey, man. I'm right here."

Piers makes a beeline straight for him, relief painted across his face.

"I was worried," Piers says. "Thought you'd scarpered when I didn't see you anywhere."

Worried? About him?

"Sorry, just... had to cool off. Sorry you had to see that shit."

Piers grabs his shoulders and holds him at arm's length, eyes scanning over him as if he was somehow physically injured by the altercation. "Nanu was bein' a right bastard to ya. We had a row ourselves, but... forget it. How're you feelin'?"

Guzma flushes. He's still not used to anyone being so concerned for him. Because it's Piers—and only because it's Piers—he can be a little honest.

"'M fine. Jus' tired of people not trustin' me, but whatever. I'm used to it."

"I'm sorry, mate." Piers squeezes his shoulders. "Dunno if it counts for much, but I trust you plenty."

...The fuck.

Guzma knocks the hands away and turns his back, hands clenched even tighter in his pockets.

He can feel tears prickling at his eyes and desperately tries to blink them away before Piers notices, because how stupid is it to randomly get emotional over something like a few measly words? Counting when he got drunk, it would be the second time Guzma's cried in front of Piers, and once was one time too many. What is it about this man that makes him comfortable enough to get all soft without realizing? He's built so many walls around himself to stop people from getting close or seeing him vulnerable, so why is it that Piers can bust right through in a matter of seconds? Four simple words and he's through.

He doesn't dare rub at his eyes. It'd be a dead giveaway. He stares at the dirt path instead, hoping the breeze dries it all up.

"Hey... wanna know what I think we should do next?" Piers' voice is suspiciously casual behind him.

"...What."

"Battle me."

He looks over his shoulder, skeptical frown set. The prospect of a battle, now that's tempting...

"Right here, right now? You wanna throw down?"

Piers points down the path. "Sure. Didn't you wanna see if you could wreck me? Let's do it in front of your town, why not give your kids a show?"

The shadows chase away from his expression and he turns around the rest of the way. Now this is a dream. Facing off against a foreign League trainer. A Gym Leader, too. Retired or not, it still fucking counts. He's been itching for the chance to test himself against something like this.

Oh, he's gonna wreck him alright. Full on destruction. His mouth twists in a smirk and he crosses his arms.

"Now yer talkin'! You're on!"

He can't wait to crush Piers in front of his gang. Show his kids that their boss is always on top. Dark versus bug? This'll be a piece of fucking cake.

They agree to a four-on-four, since that's all Piers can manage with his available Pokémon. Once the two are in position with Team Skull forming a rowdy, whistling perimeter, Guzma's opponent lets loose his starting Pokémon.

Obstagoon, eh? No biggie, no biggie. The kids gasp and chatter over the Galarian Pokémon, and Guzma can't have that. He's gotta pull their attention back onto him.

"So if I clobber ya here, does that mean I get a gym badge?" he taunts.

"For the last time, I'm retired! Not that it woulda mattered, seein' as how you're gonna lose." Piers rests a hand on his bony hip and sneers.

Team Skull _ooo's_ in response, and more than one kid throws out a protest at the idea of anyone beating their boss.

"Ohoh. Confident, ain't ya? When I win, I want ya ta announce ta everyone that ya lost to big bad Guzma!"

"You're on!" Piers raises his voice to be heard crystal clear, addressing his Pokémon while piercing Guzma with a fierce leer of challenge. "Don't have my mic, but we can make our own noise, won't we, Obstagoon?"

The Pokémon roars and bares all its teeth in a manic grin, tongue hanging down in a taunt. The two together look intimidating, this is gonna be amazing. Guzma's blood is already heated and they haven't even started.

"Gol and I are gonna shut y'all up real soon!"

It's only right to bring out his own ace if Piers is too. Guzma unleashes his Golisopod and grins wide at his buddy's battle cry. His kids cheer while Obstagoon roars and stamps the ground, tearing the grass beneath his claws.

"Both openin' with our main attractions, I see!" Piers tosses his head and his foot starts tapping to a beat only he can hear. "What are we waitin' on then?"

Obstagoon and Golisopod are sizing each other up as their trainers hold eye contact. Piers gives Guzma a dark grin that's returned with no hesitation, and something bright and electric passes between them.

" _ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?_ " Piers stomps his foot forward and points straight at him, and Guzma's heart pounds like something was actually fired at him. " _GIVE ME ALL YOU'VE GOT!_ "

"Show me whatcha got, sweetheart!" Guzma yells while Golisopod screeches. He squats down in his signature battle stance and steals the first shot with a shout.

"First Impression!" Nearly flickering out of sight at full speed, Gol slashes before Obstagoon can dodge. Fuck yeah, eat that direct hit!

The beast stays on its feet despite the severe damage, shaking its head with a snort and a snarl. Shit, how did that not take it down!

Piers doesn't waste a beat. "Counter that sorry melody!"

Guzma's eyes go wide. Obstagoon launches towards Golisopod with a feral roar and the payback swipes are vicious. The bug topples with a cry, leaving Guzma standing there gaping.

Fucking one hit K.O.? Guzma didn't think that was possible, he has the type advantage here! Counter is a _fighting type_ move, not dark! Crafty fucking bastard. Fuck, that's the worst start this match could have had, Gol couldn't even use Emergency Exit to get out of there.

One look at Piers' sneer says that this was the outcome he was expecting. The hell was he saying before about being a shitty Gym Leader? Guzma shouldn't have been so cocky. Piers is good.

But... big bad Guzma's good too. This ain't over, they're just getting started. Now he knows what to expect out of his opponent.

"Tch. Lucky shot!" He's worried about Gol, but he needs to hold strong and win this. No matter what.

He already has his next Pokémon in hand. That Obstagoon's gotta go down. Gol's first attack hit real hard, he can see now that Goony's chest is heaving.

"You're up, Aria! Take that fucker out!"

Whoever wins, it'll be by a thread.

. . .

Malamar's defeat is Piers' as well.

Guzma barely processes the opposing faint, but once Piers calls the Pokémon back and doesn't send out any more, it sinks in that it's over. He did it. He really beat Piers... A foreign Gym Leader... It was a scrape of a win, but who cares? He kicked Piers' pasty ass in the end!

Silence hangs over the battlefield for only a moment before Team Skull erupts into cheers and floods forth.

"We knew you could do it, boss!"

They all crowd around, clamoring and whooping for their boss's victory. It doesn't take long for a grin to split his face. He jumps out of his crouch, throws his head back, and cackles, more than happy to let his kids swarm and chatter about how amazing the battle was. Because it _was_ an amazing battle. He might have had the type advantage but Piers didn't make shit easy. Best match he's had in forever!

"Nothin' can take big bad Guzma down!" he crows, throwing a point right at Piers, who clicks Malamar's ball back to his belt. "How's annihilation taste!"

Piers is grinning despite the loss. "Awful!"

He hasn't felt like this in a long time. Battling hasn't been fun in a long time. When was the last time he took someone on for the sake of a good time and not because he was obligated?

"Well ta me it tastes like sweet victory!" Guzma laughs, looking as triumphant as if he won a whole championship.

To play along with the excitement, Piers lets out a good-natured groan at the top of his lungs and slumps back to stare at the clear blue sky.

"Looks like my show is over. We gave it our best shot!" he dramatically laments, and slouches towards Guzma and his posse of rowdy teens.

The sea of Skulls parts to make way for him. He crosses the space with long fast strides, hand outstretched to give Guzma a congratulatory handshake, the same one he's given to so many challengers over the years. He grabs Guzma's hand when it's hardly opened, having to force the handshake since it seems like Guzma's not used to doing anything like this post-match.

"That was brilliant. Got well thrashed, I did." He gives his opponent a nod of acknowledgement. "You and your team are formidable indeed."

Guzma grins up at him, bright and dazzling. "Damn right! I kicked yer ass and I'll do it again, anytime!"

The gang whoops and whistles. Alright, he can't let Guzma walk around with too big of a head. One victory shouldn't be enough to establish a pecking order. If only he had his Toxtricity with him on this trip.

"You're lucky I didn' 'ave my top team with me." He grins, eyes narrowed with the delight of a potential rematch someday. "What you just beat was me as a Gym Leader, not me as a trainer. You think that's all I've got?"

He wouldn't mind going at Guzma again in the future. The man's a sharper strategist than he anticipated, full of gusto and drive. It brought out Piers' wilder side in record time, that's for sure. And having such a passionate audience was refreshing. He's only ever heard Team Yell cheer so loud for his battles. This was nice.

"Ya mean ya didn't give me all ya got from the start? Tch. That's no win. I'll hafta battle ya again later."

That's an adorable pout. He hides his laugh and claps Guz on the shoulder. "I'd love to have a rematch. You can still say you'd have made it through Galar's Gym Challenge far further'n most."

How would Guzma fare against Raihan, he wonders. That would be something he'd pay to see.

"Ain'tcha forgettin' somethin', doll?"

Nicknames even in front of the kids? Surprisingly, he doesn't hate it. "Forget what?"

Guzma waggles his brows. "When I win...?"

Oh! Damn, he was serious about that? Piers clicks his tongue and takes his own step back with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"Alright, alright. Listen here!" Team Skull falls quiet and leans in closer. He makes a show of clearing his throat and straightening up for his announcement.

"I, Piers, have _lost_ to big bad Guzma."

The victor cackles. "Das _right!_ The boss always wins!"

Team Skull cheers fresh praise for their boss, who sets his hands on his hips and soaks it all up without shame. The posturing doesn't last long. Several kids crash up for hugs, and Guzma breaks into one of those smiles that make him look so much younger. He wraps his arms around whatever teens are lucky enough to be closest and stoops down to playfully jostle them around.

The picture of a loving family.

Nanu's words echo in his head and almost spoil it.

_Did Guzma really do all that shit for his kids' sakes alone?_

Doing wrong for the sake of the woman he loved...

Piers decides that... even if Guzma did commit wrongdoings because he was in love with Lusamine, there's no way he didn't do it for his family's sake too. One wrong doesn't overshadow another right. There's a dark and a light side to doing things out of love. Guzma must've been hit with doing both at once. Family, Lusamine... There's no more Lusamine, now. Only family. Only the light side of love.

He looks so happy like this.

Piers wouldn't mind seeing more of it, or more of that smile. That laugh. Those blushes, too, whenever Piers puts him on the spot and earns himself a flustered Guz. He doesn't mind the rough sides of the man, either. His curse-filled mouth, twisted leers, that cocksure cackle...

Guzma's full of himself, no doubt about that. It's an objectively annoying trait, but somehow... coming from him, it's endearing. Cute, even.

Hang on, what's wrong with him? He's supposed to hate blustering wankers who have their heads up their own arses.

Then again. Exceptions are possible. He's best friends with an exception, after all. Guzma could be one too. It certainly helps Guzma's case that he looks so kissable right about now—

Piers' eyes widen by a margin, and the rowdy noisemaking blurs over as he retreats into his own head.

Why did he think that? Why did his brain present that idea? Kissing Guzma just because he's what, cute? That's nothing alarming on its own, but he can't help but think, that it's almost like he...

His heart thuds against his ribcage. No. No, no, that's—it's preposterous to think that he might... That he might _fancy Guzma_.

Before he can wrangle with this terrifying revelation, Team Skull surges towards him and drags him into the fold.

"You were really cool, yo!"

Similar sentiments ring forth from many of the kids.

"Obstagoon was insane!"

"You guys are mad strong, like whaaat!"

Their enthusiasm is overwhelming. Piers is used to being able to escape backstage or into a locker room after every battle. He can grin and bear this, they're good kids, but fuck, he wants to get out of here. He needs to get some distance from Guzma so he can get these sudden thoughts sorted out.

His phone buzzes with a text. Thank god, a distraction. He pulls his phone out with a quick apology and hides behind the tiny device.

It's Bumu. His volunteer agent while he's in Alola. Needing an emergency meeting, about... about what, post-concert logistics, he says? Perfect opportunity to escape. He needs to get out of here so he can better process these... these feelings. And question their validity in private, when not so close to the subject, who's still got that damn handsome smile and tousled hair from roughing around with his kids and—Piers really, _really_ needs to leave now.

He shakes off the hyped-up crowd with backwards steps.

"Sorry, I need to skip."

The kids complain, but he's immune to their pouting and big eyes today.

One ride paging later, and the same Charizard from the first time appears with a smoky snort.

...On second thought, he needs to do something before leaving. He's riding out his battle adrenaline while it lasts.

Because, terrifying feelings or not, he's no coward. And the situation is set up perfectly, he has to take advantage of it while he can.

The crowd parts to accept him when he trots back up, making a clear path to their boss, whose arms are smugly crossed as he soaks up more praise from his family.

"Oi, Guz. I don't got any badges, but I can still reward you with somethin' if you're interested." He tilts his head back with a facade of confidence and slides a hand into his pants pocket. His fingertips brush the half-sized marker he's started to keep on him for random encounters with fans.

"Whatcha gonna do, kiss me?" Guzma smirks and the crowd around them _ooo_ 's.

Damn him! Piers sets his jaw and prays that he can finish this before any color rises to his face.

"I'll do ya one better. Hold out your hand." He pulls the marker out and uncaps it with his teeth, holding his other hand out to grab Guzma's.

He scrawls his digits onto a rough palm.

"'Ere yeh go." He pulls the cap out of his mouth. "I've gotta run now. Thanks for the battle, love, you were great."

The Charizard flaps its wings impatiently. Piers swings himself up and gives Guzma a final wave, and—for show, since he's surrounded by his kids and Piers is feeling daring—a wink.

"Call me!"

With a sweep and a leap, Charizard takes off, leaving Ula'Ula behind in a blaze of wind.

Once Piers is in the safety of the sky, a groan tears from his throat. His heart is pounding like he just finished a big concert, and the cool wind doesn't do a thing for his hot face.

"Call me, I said... What am I, twelve?" he bemoans, voice lost to the wind. He hates phone calls! He should have said to text instead!

This is what he gets for diving in without any sort of plan. Why was he so impulsive! And that stupid wink, what was he thinking. So cheesy. So _lame._ He's not gonna blame Guzma if the bloke acts like none of his cheap flirting ever happened. Hell, Piers wishes none of it happened. It's not like he actually has a confirmed romantic interest in the guy...

Then why did he give Guzma his number like that? It could have just been friendly teasing. Right, yes, that's what he'll call it.

Just friendly teasing. That's the excuse he'll give if Guzma calls him out.

"I'm fucked," he says, and below him, the Charizard shakes its head.

Guzma stares at the numbers scrawled across his palm, mouth agape. Does this mean what he thinks it means?

That means Piers is... _flirting_ , right? Like, _real_ flirting. Not the playful joshing they've been doing this whole time.

While he stands there, staring at his hand with the wind settling from Piers' departure, the teens surrounding him slowly begin to make comments about the exchange. Because as dense as some of these knuckleheads can be, they're still teenagers, and if there's one thing teens love, it's relationship gossip.

"Way ta go, Boss!"

"Ya gonna call him?"

"The bossman can still _get it!_ "

A few hands thump his back and his hair receives some ruffles from the ones who can reach. His face flushes a fierce red as he shakes everyone off of him, hand clenched to protect the precious phone number on his palm.

"A'ight! Show's over! Get back ta whatever y'all were doin'!" he barks. The teens scurry off in an instant, letting the boss have a peaceful walk through the Po Town gates towards home. First stop, getting his team healed up.

. . .

Once inside the peace of his room, Guzma struts to his throne and plops into it with a heavy sigh.

It's been a long day. A lot of shit happened. Hala, Nanu, Piers...

That battle with Piers set something alight in him that burns even now. Something fiery, something hungry. Seeing the retired Gym Leader in action was... incredible. He really is an amazing trainer. Guzma's sure the only reason he won was because of his type advantage. If not for that, Piers would have crushed him.

Guzma turns his hand over and looks at the black numbers scrawled across his skin. He's never had anyone give him their contact info like this before. Last time he got given a phone number, it was passed to him on a glossy business card from someone in a white Aether suit. The difference between then and now makes his stomach turn, and he closes his fist around Piers' number, like it'll vanish if he doesn't hold onto it.

He should... send a quick text. Just so Piers has his number too. Yeah.

He digs his phone out of his baggy pants and awkwardly punches the number in with one hand, having to hold his written-on palm at a weird angle to read it right. Piers' handwriting is narrow and spiky, just like him, and he crosses his 0's, which is weirdly cute.

Here goes nothing.   
  


**Guzma:** textin ya instead of callin, that aight? -💀G

  
A reply comes almost immediately.   
  


**Piers:** its preferred honestly  
  
**Piers:** dunno why i told you to call, ha  
  
**Guzma:** hey, as long as we're talkin -💀G  
  
**Piers:** right  
  
**Piers:** wait, what is that skull-G thing  
  
**Piers:** dont tell me you sign all your texts like that  
  
**Guzma:** course how else were u supposed ta know its me? -💀G  
  
**Piers:** i know its you because no other unknown number woulda texted me. ive set your contact now, you can drop the sig  
  
**Guzma:** don't know how to turn it off. whatd ya set me as? better be somthin good like big g or big bad guzma -💀G  
  
**Piers:** got you in as "bugger"  
  
**Piers:** cos u like bugs so much  
  
**Piers:** its also a galarian insult, thought you should know  
  
**Guzma:** i GUESS that's aight. Since its u an all. -💀G  
  
**Piers:** how sweet  
  
**Piers:** you have my permission to save me as whatever you want  
  
**Guzma:** edgelord it is then -💀G  
  
**Piers:** not princess?  
  
**Guzma:** aight princess edgelord -💀G  
  
**Piers:** you know what i like it  
  
**Piers:** eventually i'll inherit the full title queen edgelord  
  
**Guzma:** ye? who's the king? -💀G  
  
**Piers:** im takin applications  
  
**Piers:** qualifications include takin my breath away and bein able to carry me wherever i wanna go  
  
**Piers:** oh, and theyve gotta be inspirin enough for me to write songs about  
  
**Guzma:** dunno bout all the other stuff, but i'm sure i can carry ya -💀G  
  
**Piers:** you sayin youd apply for the job?  
  
**Guzma:** ya sayin ya want me to apply? -💀G

  
Piers takes a minute to respond. When he does, a short flurry of texts comes through.   
  


**Piers:** aint sayin nothin.  
  
**Piers:** and hey, um  
  
**Piers:** sorry for botherin you for three days straight now, it just occurred to me that ive basically been breathin down your neck  
  
**Piers:** if you want i can give you some space  
  
**Piers:** would hate to make you tired of me  
  
**Guzma:** no way am i gettin tired of ya, come bother me any time -💀G  
  
**Guzma:** i mean, ya aint botherin me at all boo, dont worry about it -💀G  
  
**Piers:** if you say so...  
  
**Piers:** whats that mean anyways  
  
**Piers:** boo

  
He's not going to tell him what that means. If he gives away the real meaning, Piers might think Guzma likes him or something. Which he doesn't. No way.   
  


**Guzma:** ...its just somethin ya call yer friends -💀G  
  
**Piers:** oh  
  
**Piers:** alright then, so its like mate  
  
**Piers:** so youre my boo?

  
Holy shit. Why did that send his heart into overdrive? It's hammering in his chest, he needs to take a minute and collect himself before he replies.   
  


**Guzma:** uh, yeah. i mean not everyone says it so u dont hafta yknow -💀G  
  
**Piers:** think i'll stick with my own slang yeah  
  
**Guzma:** i can always try ur slang -💀G  
  
**Guzma:** OI GUVNUH, PIP PIP CHEERIO -💀G  
  
**Piers:** real funny, im rollin  
  
**Piers:** pretty sure if you said that in my hometown youd get your arse kicked  
  
**Guzma:** they can try ill take em all down -💀G  
  
**Piers:** oh yes, im sure you will. big tough guy, you are  
  
**Guzma:** u know it babe. dont tell me u wouldnt enjoy it. saw u starin at my chest earlier yknow -💀G  
  
**Piers:** ...sorry. i'll stop that  
  
**Guzma:** i dont mind it boo stare at my hot bod all u want -💀G  
  
**Piers:** no need to tempt me  
  
**Guzma:** ya mean ya arent already tempted? -💀G  
  
**Piers:** i'm changin the subject now  
  
**Piers:** say, have you looked up any of my singin yet? you wanted that preview right?  
  
**Guzma:** was thinkin more of a LIVE preview -💀G  
  
**Piers:** and i told you, you aint gonna get one. i dont do solo performances any more than i do encores

  
He eyes the open laptop on the mini table near his throne. It's tempting... and he does need something to take his mind off the idea of what Piers would sound like calling him boo in person, and this is better than nothing. 

In a flash, he's on his browser, searching for any videos of "Piers on tour."   
  


**Guzma:** yeah yeah fine ill look one up -💀G  
  
**Piers:** hope you enjoy it  
  
**Piers:** ive gotta go, my agents mitherin me about somethin again  
  
**Piers:** talk to you later? or see you later maybe  
  
**Guzma:** definitely  
  
**Guzma:** u can come BUG me any time -💀G  
  
**Piers:** awful  
  
**Piers:** in a bit then  
  
**Guzma:** later -💀G

  
He chucks his phone across the room. It lands safely on the bed with a light thump, and he returns his attention to the computer screen. Video, video... damn, there's not many to choose from. Didn't Piers say this was his first time on tour? The only vids he can find are only in the hundreds of views, some peaking into the thousands. All of them look like they were recorded by an audience member. Better than nothing... 

Here's a promising one. The thumbnail is blurry as fuck, but it's got a decent number of views, and whoever recorded it was right in front. Perfect for seeing Piers perform.

Guzma clicks the video. The link opens with a cacophony of cheering that nearly blows out the mic. The camera wildly twitches around, only catching darkness and blurry lights. He's almost backed out to pick a different video when the music starts. Heavy on the guitar, huh? He likes it. Damn good opener. Did Piers write that shit himself?

The view suddenly stabilizes, and the lights spin and center, aimed at a small and cramped stage with Piers standing tall right in the middle, both hands on top of a spiky mic stand and gazing down at the crowd. He already looks good just standing there, but then Piers starts to sing. And dance. The phone's shitty mic is killing the sound quality, but the video works just fine.

Shit, he's really got some moves. Piers is really getting into it, tapping his foot, pulling the mic around, dancing with it... Guzma's eyes never leave those swaying hips. God, what would they look like up close, right in front of him, giving him his own private show... The quality of the video makes it hard to tell, but he swears he catches a glimpse of silver along the visible crests of those hips.

"Fuuuckin' hell..." He moves his hand to the crotch of his pants to adjust himself without really thinking.

Piers is screaming the words now, skin shining with sweat, hair stuck to his forehead and lashing behind him with every toss of his head.

What he wouldn't give to see Piers like that beneath him. Screaming in pleasure, his name instead of lyrics, their limbs tangled together, moving in sync. Or Piers dancing in front of him, mic stand as good as any pole, enticing and filthy with every tilt and snap of his body, close enough to touch...

The onslaught of lewd scenarios flooding his mind doesn't let up as the video plays on. He's definitely hard now.

Maybe he should stop watching. This shit is dangerous. _Piers_ is dangerous, with that rich voice and sexy body and intense eyes and mesmerizing motions...

Piers, who on day one admitted that he finds Guzma attractive. Who stares at his chest and blushes when Guzma pushes his buttons the right way. Who gets his blood racing like no other, whether it's with teases of his own or during a battle or from behind a cheap screen, singing to an audience from weeks ago.

A growl of frustration rumbles in his chest.

"Fuck it."

He starts the video over and shoves his hand down his pants while taking the hem of his shirt into his mouth.

His eyes never leave the screen as he strokes himself, free hand toying with his chest. With a groan of relief, he sinks into his throne, legs spreading apart, and it takes no time at all for him to come undone. Too much was stacked against him. Their intense battle today, their incessant, confusing maybe-flirting, maybe-not-flirting, and now this fucking sexy video. Dammit, how's a guy supposed to stand up to that? He's surprised he lasted three fucking days.

Piers looks into the camera and smiles behind the mic and it finishes him. A tight groan leaves him as he comes, and he strokes himself a few more times, riding out his orgasm with harsh grunts and hips jerking upward, trying to fuck into his slicked hand.

His chest heaves once it's over, and he can feel every muscle in his body relax. Limp on his throne, Guzma chills right there, exhausted but satisfied, enjoying the afterglow and trying to calm his breathing.

The afterglow doesn't last long. Once the cum has cooled on his stomach, the guilt starts to creep.

_Yo, the fuck is wrong with you. Ya know what you just did?_

A low growl rips through his throat and he slams the laptop lid closed with his clean hand.

_Ya fuckin' got off ta a shitty video of someone ya know, that's what. Someone you're **friends** with._

Another growl. He stands up and strips his clothes off, wiping his hand clean on his shirt and tossing his soiled pants off to the side. He'll have to clean those later. He slinks over to his closet, grabs a pair of boxers off the floor, and steps into them.

His head falls backwards and he runs a hand over his face. "How 'm I gonna face him after doin' that?"

The idea of Piers being weirded out or wanting to avoid him after finding out he _masturbated to a video of his show_ buries an uncomfortable rock in his gut. He doesn't wanna do anything that might jeopardize their friendship.

...Kinda late for that. He might've just fucked this up.

He panics a little picturing Piers leaving him. Or looking at him in disgust. Or not wanting to be touched anymore, because damn, they really do touch each other a lot, don't they? Holding hands a couple times. The cuddling and the lick and the kiss from last night that he can't fucking remember because he drank so damn much. And behind Hala's place, where Piers revenge kissed him back. Why's his heart beating so hard over that again?

Why does Piers affect him like this... It's so fucking confusing. His chest is tight and he's gonna get a headache soon stressing over all this shit...

All he has to do is not tell Piers. Then nothing will change between them, and Guzma can keep being friends with Piers.

His chest loosens a little. As long as he can keep seeing Piers, everything'll be alright. He loves hanging out with him, seeing him. Likes looking at his hair, his pretty eyes, that bright smile. Everything. And it's even better when they can have fun together, like they did today. Just picturing that cute face lighting up puts Butterfrees in his stomach. Not to mention what the beautiful sound of that laugh does to him. Fuck, if he could just hear it every day he'd be happy.

If he could just see Piers every day, he'd be happy.

Everything comes crashing down as the realization uproots all he thought he knew about their relationship.

He likes Piers. Like, _like_ likes him. God fucking dammit, this is more than just wanting to take the guy on a test-drive date, he wants to fuckin'—make Piers his. Date him, have him, the whole shebang.

That explains everything. His heart beating faster every time he sees Piers smile, why he wants to be around him and tease him all the time. Why he blushes every time they hang out. And now that he's realized it, it's going to be impossible to ignore. It's gonna be on his mind every second they're together. How is he going to handle that?

He's scared... terrified, even. Lusamine was the last person he was ever with, and look what she did to him. The lies, the doubts... Piers wouldn't do any of that... would he? Guzma's stomach flip-flops, making him nauseous. Piers would never. He's not that kind of guy, but the fear is still there, and it's hard to shake. Won't stop him from trying. Those two are practically night and day.

With Lusamine, he felt apprehension, the need to stay a step behind her and keep his head bowed, but with Piers, there's confidence to stride right at his side. Lusamine made his heart feel aching and empty and needy, while Piers makes it warm and full.

She was a cause of fear. Made him feel worthless. But the way Piers looks at him, smiles at him, makes him feel like he's worth everything, and that he actually deserves to feel that way. The two are on complete opposites of the scale and it scares him how different it all is.

His eyes drift over to the bottles on the shelf. A quick drink might help him think, but _fuck,_ it never stops at one. What would Piers think if he got shitfaced again? Worse, what if Piers comes over and Guzma drunkenly spills his guts about these crazy thoughts and emotions and all that garbage?

A frustrated sound leaves his dry throat and he checks his watch.

"Fuck."

It's late. Later than he should be up. He's gotta go to Hala's again in the morning. Maybe a good night's sleep will make him feel better, and clear this confusing shit up so he can at least face Piers without his feelings being obvious the moment he opens his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at them, Realizing Shit on the same day. Proud of them. So proud!
> 
> Three days down, that's nearly halfway...
> 
> Hours remaining: 108


	5. Runaround

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things we learned last chapter:  
> 1) Hala and Nanu are on opposite ends of the "how to show you care" spectrum.  
> 2) Piers has gracefully lost to Big Bad Guzma.  
> 3) Post-nut clarity is some real shit.

Piers couldn't sleep a single bloody wink last night. He kept replaying the same few things in his head over and over, and each repeated scene had his heart skipping beats like a shitty record player.

The casual payback kiss they had, behind Hala's.

The short-lived "date" a couple days ago, where Guzma took his hand and declared they were out together to shake that girl.

Guzma's blush as he lay on the ground, sharp eyes crossed as Piers drew a line down his strong, handsome nose...

And then, most recently. Guzma's proud battle victory over him, standing triumphant while surrounded by his family, smiling without a care in the world.

His stomach does a light flip at the memory. Piers groans and drags a hand down his face. The whole night it was doing a bloody gymnastics routine, accompanied by an erratic percussion solo courtesy of his own damn heart. Kept him awake for hours. Whatever fitful amount of sleep he did get were lost to absurd, vivid dreams that he can't bring himself to reflect on.

One guess as to who they revolved around.

The sheets shift as Piers rolls onto his other side for the sixth time in ten minutes. He feels like the world's shittiest metronome with all his tossing and turning through the night.

He hasn't been this much of a mess since his younger years. It's almost a privilege this time around, to have the source of his sleepless night be something as... as trivial as personal feelings.

Positive personal feelings.

Positive, but no less stressful for it.

_(Admit it. You have a cru—)_

_Nope. No. Not gonna listen to meself if that's what I have to say._

His conscience rolls its eyes. Fun stuff, being stuck with himself to get sorted out. Not reliable at all. He has a very bad habit of telling himself things he'd rather not hear. The insufferable part is, he's usually right. He's just too petty, even towards himself, to admit it right away. He's got to take his time coming to solid terms with things before he can accept them.

...Things like how he has a crush on—

_Quit it!_

This might be easier if he had someone to talk to about it. Someone who isn't himself. However, his list of friends is woefully short, and while that fact has never bothered him by itself, it's proving troublesome right now.

No way is he going to open up about this to Marnie. She doesn't need any details about her brother's roman—emotional anguish. He'll keep this far away from her. And he knows better than to bother Raihan about it. That man was never one to take ro—... fine, he'll say it, _romance,_ seriously. His best friend's never once shown an interest in it, and more than once the dragon tamer's dropped casual comments (strategically casual) about how happy he is with the single life, content with having his friends surrounding him.

Piers has held a strong suspicion about his friend's aromanticism for a long time, but Raihan's never used the word and Piers isn't about to push it on him in case it isn't true.

Another thing Raihan's done before is make subtle remarks about how Piers shouldn't feel any rush to start dating again. Not in any manipulative or passive-aggressive way, but in a way that, coupled with his hunch over Rai's romantic orientation, makes him incredibly hesitant to reach out and say 'hey, get this, think I might fancy someone, what should I do?' because he knows in his gut that Raihan might try to talk him down from his feelings.

And that's the real kicker, isn't it. For all he's been agonizing, rolling around in bed and running his mind in circles... he doesn't want this to be taken from him.

He wants this option. This potential. He's never felt this kind of strong chemistry before, he wants to see where it can go, what it might make. But he won't fucking get anywhere if he stays alone and quiet and stagnant about this. He wants to talk to someone to move forward, not take any steps back from his feelings... Sorry, Rai.

Kabu might... No, no, it would be silly to message him out of the blue for something like this. How weird would it be to get a message from your ex-coworker about their nonexistent dating life. There's a limit to how much you can rely on any mentor figure, and Kabu was only meant to keep his past kid self from tripping everywhere. He's grown now, and hasn't reached out to the man in ages anyways. It'd just be weird to bother him with something so unrelated to the League.

Might Nessa be sound at love advice...? Ugh, no, he knows her even less! Plus she's so intimidating, always teasing him whenever they cross paths. He can imagine the disbelief on her face at being reached out to, and the thought of her bafflement that he dared think they were friendly enough to discuss _crush stuff_ has him withering away right there on the bed. Yeah, no. That'd be begging for belittlement.

Suffering by himself is the only route Piers has available, which is just aces. On the bright side, he's always used to that.

Piers stifles a pathetic groan into his pillow. How poetic, a songwriter all alone with his bleedin' feelings.

The normal thing to do would be to write it out, but he's preemptively dreading the drivel that would come out of his pen. He's never written anything sappy in his life and he refuses to start now. So his usual method of wrangling his feelings is off limits too.

All he can do is stew. And what a bang-up job he's doing with that.

It's already past noon and Piers hasn't left bed yet. So much for vacation. He does have an obligation to attend at the stadium where his concert will be hosted. His agent wants him there to help direct equipment setup and perform a sound check. The concert's so close now, only a day and a half away.

Four days in and it feels like he's barely spent enough time with Guzma. The show is knocking on the door already.

...He could invite Guzma along for the equipment setup. It would be a good event to hang out for. But fuck, is it really a good idea to see him now that Piers has all these... new feelings? What if he acts weird around Guzma? What if he can't hide it—whatever _it_ is?

Avoidance isn't an option. He can't give up interacting with his new friend entirely. His time in Alola is more than halfway over, he needs every moment he can get with his friend, who he might possibly like as more than a friend which is a major pressing issue.

He'll just have to suck it up and do his best to act normal.

"Th'fuck is m' phone..."

The satiny pillows swish around on equally satiny sheets as Piers rummages around the bed. Such a posh bed. Just as big as Guzma's, but lacking all the creaking and the lived-in coziness of the covers and scent of someone trusted. Too yielding, too lonely. Ugh.

Piers finds his phone amidst the covers near his knees.

Oh? There's texts from multiple people.

A selfie from Raihan, that's nothing unexpected. Piers finds something to tease him for and fires it off no hesitation, mouth twitching into a smile for the first time this morning.

...Text from his volunteer agent, Bumu, reminding him about his obligation.

An orange heart back from Raihan.

Then there's a picture from Marnie, which has him sitting up in bed with a wider smile. She's hanging out with friends at some café, trying not to smile again but having fun enough to commemorate it with a photo. Little Hopper and Gloria are beaming while Bede's got a scowl on his face, but Marnie's barely-there smile is what gives Piers his energy back. Looking at pictures of his sister always gives him strength.

Okay. Now he has the courage he needs to text Guzma.

He opens up the message thread from last night, eyes lingering on the last few texts they sent to each other while his thumbs hover over the screen. How to word this in a way that doesn't sound weird or overly eager...

The next eight minutes are dedicated to crafting a good message, and as soon as its finally sent along Piers drops his phone onto the covers and rolls out of bed. No use sitting around building anxiety waiting for a reply from his... friend. Just his friend. He refuses to think of Guzma as anything else right now.

As he digs through his open suitcase to get dressed, Piers staunchly keeps his mind off the fact that he's never put so much energy into picking an outfit for a meetup with a 'friend' before.

"Focus, Guzma..."

Guzma's closed eye twitches from the reminder, even though he should have known it was coming. He sighed about ten times already, and the last one must have cracked the old man's patience to remind him to keep his shit together.

Focus. Focus... Sit comfortably, hands balanced over lap, breathing even, allowing the mind to drift along just like Master always tells him to...

A flicker of black and white in his memory upends his stability once again. A heart-pounding battle. A shaky video. Temptress dancing on stage. The rush, the pleasure, the guilt, the realization that fucking hell, he likes this guy—

Guzma growls in frustration, opening his eyes and throwing his hands high. "Fuck! I just ain't feelin' meditatin' today, old man!"

Hala lifts his bushy brows at the outburst.

Guzma rises from his cross-legged position on the floor and dusts his pants off. Not that there's anything to dust, the old man keeps his place plenty clean. He starts a pace around the room to get the jitters out of his legs.

"I got too many things goin' through my head right now. Can't focus fer shit. And I know that's what meditation is for, but fuck."

Hala scrutinizes him for a long moment and uses his knee as support to stand up. "I can tell, son. What's bothering you? Maybe I can help."

"Tch..." Doubtful. He's not going to tell Hala he's having _boy troubles._ Or that he jerked off to a video of said boy and feels super fucking weird about it. God though, every time Hala calls him _that_ it pries him open another hair. "I dunno... I don't think you can help with this, master."

A large hand pats onto his shoulder. "Why don't we sit and have a chat? I feel it might be more productive for you than meditating. I'll make us some drinks."

With stubborn reluctance, he trails after Hala to the living room and plops down on one of the long couches while Hala leaves to make whatever drinks. He's never been a big fan of tea. Or coffee. Unless he's _really_ thirsty. Or unless someone special gives it to him. Great, now he's thinking about Piers again, with his stupid kindness and stupid soft lips and the dumb way his laugh sounds beautiful in the wind.

Several agonizing minutes later, Hala comes back with two different drinks. One's in a mug, steaming invitingly, and the other is a clear glass clinking with iced sweet tea.

"Made your favorite," Hala says, relinquishing the mug with a smile.

Guzma squints up at the man and gives the drink a suspicious sniff. His eyes widen at the familiar smell.

"Tapu Cocoa?" He shoots the old man a confused glance. "How'd _you_ know this was my favorite?"

Hala blows out a chuckle. "Kama 'oko'a, I've known you since you were about..." A broad hand measures a height, palm down. "Yea high. I think I of all people would know your favorite drink."

He scoffs and takes a sip. Pretty good. Nobody can make Tapu Cocoa better than him, but Hala's isn't bad. He'd prefer this to tea any day. Warmth spreads through his body with every sip, relaxing him and loosening his tongue.

"Not bad," he mumbles, lowering the mug to his lap and letting the warmth seep through his fingers.

Hala seats himself on the other end of the couch, not even drinking his tea in favor of looking benevolently at him. Waiting for him to talk.

He doesn't even know where to start. Hala wants to know what's going on in his head, but how is he supposed to talk about _that?_ About Piers?

"So," Hala starts. "What seems to be bothering you?"

_Fuck, here we go._

"It's none of yer business. Just some stuff with a friend." He hides behind another long sip of cocoa.

"Oh? Did something good happen with this friend?" Hala smirks in a kind way. "You know you can tell me anything."

Guzma stiffens. That kind of offer is a hell of a bold thing to say. _Telling_ someone and them actually _doing_ something to help are two different things. Lesson he learned the hard way. Last time he confided something this personal to Hala, it didn't result in shit. But... he could always tell the old man felt guilty every time he mentioned his dad after that, so... god, whatever, at least he knows Hala won't actively hurt him with this information. That's better than nothing. A few moments pass in silence before he speaks up with a grumble. "Fine. But don't tell anyone, got it?"

Hala beams with pride. "My lips are sealed."

There's no more stalling to be done outside one more bracing sip of cocoa. Here goes nothing...

"I... think I might have feelin's fer someone." His face burns pink as he shoves all the words out at once, staring into the sheltering oasis of smooth brown cocoa in his lap, a crescent of pale foam clinging to the inside of the mug like a little mini beach. "An' I dunno what ta do about it."

"I see..." The Kahuna strokes his mustache in thought while Guzma braces himself for... he doesn't know what. He just braces. "Who is this someone? Plumeria, I presume?"

Guzma jolts in disbelief. "What? No it ain't Plumes! It's someone different! Last night, we were talkin' and I realized my feelings for him and..."

The twinkle in the old man's eye tells him his leg just got pulled. Fuck. Guzma settles into the couch and pulls the mug up to his face with both hands, glaring over the edge at Hala as the old man chortles.

"I have my hunches as to who, my boy. You two have excellent chemistry, from what I've seen. I can only approve."

Hold up. Is _that_ why Hala was extra aggravating yesterday, teasing him in front of Piers? Fucking old man tried to set him up!

Guzma's face burns. Before he can bark out some retaliation against Hala's motivations from yesterday, his phone chimes in his pocket. He fishes it out with a final glare, grateful for the distraction, and once he sees who the notification is from, his irritation vanishes, just like that.   
  


**Piers:** hey guz. wanna check out the venue with me here on akala? gotta make sure its set up right, just wonderin if youd be interested in taggin along. dont gotta if youre busy  
  
**Guzma:** hell yeah i'll come! Im with Hala rn but ill be done soon where ya wanna meet up -💀G  
  
**Piers:** outside the resort okay?

  
Score! Like hell is he passing up this chance to hang out with Piers again. Heh. Meeting him outside the resort is almost like picking him up.

A pleased little chuckle dances out of him and he taps back a reply.   
  


**Guzma:** more than okay. soon as hala lets me go i'll be over -💀G  
  
**Piers:** i'll be waitin for ya then  
  
**Guzma:** A'ight see ya soon boo -💀G  
  
**Piers:** see you  
  
**Piers:** boo

  
Fuck. If reading 'boo' makes his heart skip such a big beat like that, hearing it straight from Piers' lips just might do him in. What he wouldn't give to hear Piers say that in his accent... It'd be adorable...   
  


As understanding hum shatters his concentration and he realizes too late that he was smiling the entire time. Guzma shoves his scowl back into place and his phone into his pocket, but it's too late. Hala saw everything.

"Ahh, I see. You seem to really care for him."

"So what if I do?" he fires back. "Nothin' wrong with that, huh?"

Hala only grins wider. "Not at all. From what I've seen, he cares about you too. You should keep him close to your heart, my boy. Do your best to maintain your connection with him. When the time is right, you'll be able to tell him how you feel."

For once, Hala's advice doesn't frustrate him out the gate, and some of the storm in the back of his mind eases along with a few knots of tension from his body.

"Tch. What do you know, old man..."

"With age comes wisdom." Hala smiles as Guzma drains the rest of the cocoa and clacks the mug onto the table. "You look like you have somewhere to be. I'll let you go, kama 'oko'a. Good luck."

_Hope I don't need it._

. . .

"You ever been inside the stadium before?" Piers asks as they stroll through Heahea City. "I've only seen the outside of it. Biggest place I'll ever perform at, so far at least. Hard to believe they gave me such a fancy venue."

Guzma's barely listening. Kinda hard to pay attention to what's going on in the world when Piers looks this _good_ today. Every glance over makes his heart race and he compulsively rubs his palms along his pants in case they start sweating at any moment.

He's trying to keep his eyes off. He really is. His stress levels would certainly drop if he stopped stealing so many looks. There's just too many things swirling around his head and hijacking his body. Attraction. Frustration. A little bit of excitement and a whole lotta nerves.

Hala's words about keeping Piers close to heart, maintaining a connection, yadda yadda, feel so far away now that he's striding alongside the guy. All he can focus on is keeping his shit together so he doesn't trip over nothing and look like a total idiot in front of the hottest bitch these Alolan streets have ever seen. Hell, he can spot random strangers doing double-takes as they pass, which is both irritating and gives Guzma a strange sense of pride. He can't blame them for staring, anyways.

It's a toss-up on whether Piers' ass or his slender legs draw the eye more with those damn tight shorts and heeled boots that clack like music against the road. The outfit has lots of black, completely out of place for Alola's climate and making Piers stick out like a sore thumb. A sore, but sexy thumb—no, that sounds stupid. Anyways, who's he to judge when it looks that good? Guzma's a fan of wearing black himself, and the thought of them matching or possibly even looking _good together_ has his heart leaping into his throat.

Piers isn't wearing a jacket today, good choice, but his arms aren't completely bare thanks to some random punkish accessories wrapped around his bony wrists. And god, fuck, the makeup framing those seafoam eyes. Guzma's no stranger to recognizing good makeup. It's like Piers woke up today deciding he wanted to put Guzma into the ground just by waving and saying "hullo" in that dumb adorable accent.

"Guzma?" Those pretty eyes, even prettier in the sunlight, blink down at him. Is it just him, or are Piers' eyelashes thicker than usual today too?

Ah, fuck. He was asked a question, wasn't he. What did Piers say again? Something about the stadium.

"Uh... Oh, yeah! I have once or twice. Battle Royal matches happen there. Four trainers, all against each other at the same time, it's a big thing here in Alola. I've seen 'em live a couple times," he rattles off like a damn tour guide.

Royal matches are entertaining and all, and Guzma's as much a fan of the Masked Royal as anybody, but now. Now, he has another reason for going to the Dome. The concert. The reason Piers is in Alola to begin with. The thought of the rock star on stage, singing his heart out and throwing passion everywhere... Gotta be a million times more intense than any shitty video could capture...

"Four trainers at once sounds wild. I know someone who'd love that," Piers fondly says. "You like watchin' live battles?"

"Ehh... Think I'd have more fun at a rock show." He smirks as naturally as he can. He's trying his best to not give away his newfound feelings by acting as normal as possible. "All depends on who's on stage, ya know?"

Piers' stride speeds out of nowhere and Guzma hurries to keep pace. It's hard to see the other's face with his bangs in the way, but his voice is warm and friendly when he replies.

"You better enjoy my show, then, given how much I'll be singin' just for you."

His heart thuds and he makes a confused sound without meaning to. Piers glances around, and when they round a corner out of sight from pedestrians, throws an arm around his shoulders. Guzma jolts and hunches, heart beating in his ears at the sudden close contact.

"I mean it. Show woulda been cancelled if not for you helpin' me get my Pokémon back," Piers says lowly, and gives his shoulders a brief squeeze before letting go. "Thanks again for that. You were a lifesaver, mate."

He stammers something nonsensical in return, and his face warms even as they part. His heart's beating out of his chest and he swears his shoulders are burning where Piers touched him even though the cloth of his hoodie stood in between.

He's... yeah. He's definitely fucked. There's no going back now.

They're let into the stadium without much trouble. One look at Piers and doors start opening without anyone questioning or getting in their way. It's weird walking through the Dome using these back hallways. He's never seen this side of the place before.

Guzma keeps his head down as they walk, to avoid being seen and to hide his red face.

A long dark hallway echoes their footsteps as they walk, and the central space opens up to them at last. Piers halts to take it all in. Guzma stops right behind him, more than happy to stand back and watch the singer's reactions to Alola's biggest stadium. Galar's stadiums are probably fancier than anything Alola's got, but still, this one here ain't too shabby.

The ceiling is ages away, the floor is a massive expanse, and the central stage is an elevated island with four corners for four trainers to climb up and take their places for a Battle Royal.

"Holy shite..." Piers says under his breath. "How'm I gonna fill all this space?" Piers steps into the open and turns in a slow circle, marveling at the grand stadium. "Maybe I should block half of it off, no way am I gonna get enough people to fill this floor..."

The wonder on Piers' face is really something. Makes a guy wanna work hard to make those dreams come true.

"Sure ya will." Shit, his voice is tinged sappy. He clears his throat to roughen it back up. "All of Team Skull is comin', y'know? And I'm sure you'll have lotsa fans showin' up, so this place'll be packed for sure."

Alola's tiny, but when something as big as a rock concert brings fresh excitement to the islands, everyone and their grandma is bound to show up.

Piers jogs down the colored path and takes the stairs two at a time to the center stage. He spins around again, arms open at his sides, taking in the atmosphere and the feeling of being at the center of it all.

Guzma flushes as he stands on the fringe, still in the shadow of the entryway, heart swelling at the sight. He wants nothing more than to run up there, grab Piers tight, and kiss him right in the middle of the stadium. But Piers is so in his element up there by himself. Like the video proved last night, Piers is a natural on stage. That's his world, elevated away from the common people, out of reach and unattainable.

Piers stops and faces him with a breathtaking smile. "What are you doin' over there? Come up here with me."

An outstretched hand beckons him closer. He swallows and wills his feet to move, crossing the space and climbing the stairs until he's level with Piers once more. Feels weird to be standing in this spot with all this empty space surrounding them. He coughs and shuffles as close to the singer as he dares.

"Ya really do belong up here. Can't wait to see ya perform."

Piers' body warms at the encouragement. The idea of someone he li—considers a _good friend_ watching him live for the very first time is thrilling. Guzma has no idea what he's in for. He said last night he would watch a video to get a preview, but Piers hasn't heard a thing about that yet, so he assumes Guzma just forgot.

He should ask later, after this business is done.

"Hang on, what time is it? There should be people here to help set up by now..."

His microphone and all his own tech he can hook up himself with his Pokémon's help, but his agent insisted that he make use of extra lights and speakers to take advantage of the gigantic venue. Piers has no clue where the man pulled together all that shite, but he trusts that the people Bumu swore would be present would know what they're doing.

He spins to look around the area. The equipment should at least be—ah, there it is, in another entryway, modeled after the giant maw of a Charizard that reminds him a fair bit of Dynamax. Thank god, at least the crates are here. They got delivered just fine. The difference between his own battered cases and the shinier ones that must be from his agent is rather stark. Boxes are way bigger, too... Given enough time he can figure it all out, he's used to rigging all sorts of sound equipment up, but he'd rather not waste time on uncertainties for a show as important as this.

Another scan around the stadium shows that there's not a soul to be seen asides from him and Guzma.

"Dammit, hang on..." He digs for his phone. "Bumu said some of his friends would be here..."

Before he can make any calls, the phone rings in his hand.

"Hullo? ...What do you _mean_ busy? They knew I was comin' for weeks!" Piers curves his whole body back to stare at the distant ceiling in disbelief. The man on the phone spills reason after reason, and each one kills Piers' enthusiasm bit by bit until all he is is worried and hopeless.

"I see... So, can _anyone—_ What, no one!?" His jaw drops. "No, don't apologize. Not _your_ fault," he mutters into the phone. "Glad I came early enough to realize. Thanks for tellin' me. I'll—no, don't blame yourself, I can work with this. Stop— _Really,_ it's fine. Just let me see what I can do."

Before Bumu can stammer his way through more apologies, Piers hangs up. His phone dangles in his hand and he turns to give Guzma a despairing look.

"That was my Alolan agent. Apparently the setup crew he pulled together totally fell apart. They suddenly had 'sudden obligations.' Which is just great. Concert's tomorrow and nothing's ready, _god,_ this is just my luck..." He spins a stressed 360 on a heel, hand tangled in his bangs, and groans. "I'll have to stick to settin' up what's mine, fuck, it'll look so pathetic on this big stage... Bumu went on and on about gettin' me hooked up with stronger tech and now I can't use any of it, _fuck!_ "

Guzma lifts a hand to silence him. The shock of being gestured to in that way shuts him up more than anything. "Relax, babe. I'll call the gang."

_Babe?_ Guzma has to be patronizing him because he's so worked up. Rude bastard!

"Wait, you don't have t'—"

He's already calling someone, who answers right away.

"Yo, Naomi. Get a bunch of the kids who know 'bout music equipment together, and come on down to the Royal Dome. I need some help with somethin'. Yeah, tha's right, it's who you think it is." Guzma smirks. "Be here fast as ya can. A'ight, peace."

The gang boss hangs up before Piers can get a word of protest in. Looks like this little rescue mission is already set in stone. Great. Wonderful. He's been turned into a bloody damsel.

Guzma walks up and throws an audacious arm around his hunched shoulders. "The kids'll be here in a blink. They always were better with this technology shit than I am. They'll get all this together in no time."

He sounds far too pleased with himself and it very much rubs the wrong way. Piers pushes the heavy arm off him and takes a step back.

"Guzma, ya don' have to make them help me. I'm grateful, of course, but I can't take advantage of them. I can find some other way to fix this. Get it figured out on me own."

Guzma snorts. "Ya kiddin' me? Lots of my kids are inta music— _makin'_ music—they're prolly trippin' over themselves right now ta come help! And it'd be good fer their image, think about it!"

"I—okay, fine, fair points. But at least ask me first!" Piers crosses his arms. "You've already helped me enough, I don't need you fixin' all my problems."

"Yeesh, sorry. Didn't mean anythin' by it. Cross my heart I had yer best interests at heart." Guzma makes an 'X' over his chest.

Piers narrows his eyes and tightens his arms over his chest. Man certainly looks innocent enough... It's just that if he relies on Guzma for every little fiasco, their relationship will become too unbalanced. And that's not a healthy basis for building a deeper—

_Will you quit actin' like things are gonna go further than friendship? Come off it already. Let him do what he wants._

"Fine. Sorry. S'ppose I did overreact." He rubs his shoulder with a sigh. "...Misinterpreted you callin' me babe," he admits. "Put me off."

In any other context the nickname would have drawn a blush to his face. Princess, toots, sweet cheeks, those are all casual and flippant enough that Piers can brush them off. Babe, though... or baby. Those are actual pet names you'd either call your lover, or someone you're trying to make fun of.

(Or something you'd call your best friend, but as always, that's a special case.)

When he focuses back on Guzma's face, he's surprised to see a smirk there. It's... different, than the usual smirks, and he can't place why.

"What. Why're you lookin' at me like that."

Guzma crosses his arms and looks even more smug. "'Babe' threw ya off, huh? Why's that?"

A grimace curls his lip and he looks off to the side, hand making an aborted motion up to his choker. "No reason you should care about."

"Izzat so..." There's suddenly no distance between them, and a tug and pull at his choker forces him to bend down. He's too distracted by the sudden chest in his face to take the appropriate action, which would be shoving the arsehole away and cussing him out for daring to yank his choker. But he can't even speak, because Guzma hums thoughtfully right into his ear and gives another, subtler, tug that rocks his whole body closer.

"A'ight, then. Apology accepted, babe." Warm breath tickles across his ear and his face does a great impression of a thermometer thrust under a heat lamp. "Let's go get the kids, yeah?"

Piers finally shoves him away, and his scathing glare is only met with an infuriatingly wide (and infuriatingly handsome) smile.

What is with this impertinent arse today? Teasing isn't anything new, but this is on another level. Although, it's possible that Guzma isn't acting any different, and it's just him who's overly sensitive now that he has a cru—...now that he has suspicions about his own feelings about Guzma.

"You're fuckin' insufferable," he snaps. "Remind me why I'm friends with you again?"

"Cuz I'm _your_ kind of insufferable." Guzma strolls away, checking over his shoulder to see if Piers is following. "Ya comin', babe, or what?"

He gapes at the broad, retreating back, doing his damndest to calm himself down before any part of his body language (other than his face, which is a bloody lost cause) reveals something compromising. He's going to get a heart attack if Guzma keeps this up.

Insufferable bastard...

_I'm your kind of insufferable_ replays along with a visual of that smile, and his resilience suddenly feels worn down, because the worst part about all this is that Guzma isn't even wrong about that.

. . .

Sure enough, there's a fuss going on out front. The guard at the public entrance stands tall, arms crossed, fully blocking the entryway into the stadium. On the other side of the living barricade, a small group of teenagers are stirring up quite the ruckus.

Piers jogs up to the guard and taps his back. Not a budge.

"What's all this?"

The guard grimaces and shrugs his big shoulders, aiming a glare down at the kids, who go quieter once they notice him.

"These little punks are trying to break in. Don't worry Mister Piers, I'll keep them out of your way. Hey, kids, knock it off! There's nothing in here you want!"

Oh, dear.

"Sorry, wasn't able to warn you in time. They're actually here to help me with—"

The kids clamor upon catching sight of him.

"Piers! Piers, we came, just like Boss said!"

"Fast as we could!"

"We'll do whatever you need, yo!"

The guard spreads himself broader and blocks the door completely. "That's what I'm worried about! Piers, do you have any idea what these little punks are up to? I can't get them to scurry off."

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Piers tilts his head back and looks down his nose at the guard, not that the man is focusing on him one bit.

"What they _will_ be up to is lendin' a hand settin' up for my concert. My expected crew fell through, and on short notice, these kind children decided to volunteer and help me out. I'll take full responsibility for 'em. They'll be on their best behavior, won't you, kids?" he directs at the teens, who all nod and make overlapping promises to behave.

The guard _harrumphs._ "I don't trust them. No offense, but I don't think you can control a bunch of rowdy delinquents, especially these ones, with their track record. Where's their boss, anyways?"

"Right here."

All caught up, Guzma marches right past him and jabs a finger into the man's back, which stiffens under the sound of that gruff voice.

"Listen, guy. Don't be an ass and judge the kids for shit _I_ did and made 'em do, and don't tell Piers what he can and can't do to get his concert up and runnin'. If ya really wanna be a dick to someone, I'm right here."

The guard spins around and shrinks when he sees the gang boss towering over him.

Piers is almost tempted to tap his friend on the shoulder and ask him to tone things down, but watching Guzma come to his and his kids' defense without hesitation rendered him unwilling to intervene. He's not used to anyone coming to bat for him like this, and it's... quite nice.

"G-Guzma! How did you get inside? Y-You shouldn't be here either!"

Piers narrows his eyes. "Why not? He's my guest. As are these kids."

The man winces and hesitatingly faces him. "A-Again, no offence sir, but..."

"But what."

"But these kids, and Guzma, I can't just let them..."

A fresh voice cuts over the commotion with a bright greeting sent their way. Piers looks over the guard's head and blinks in surprise at the newcomer jogging up.

"Hey! What's going on here?"

The conflict takes a temporary backseat in Piers' mind as he takes in the stranger. Specifically, the stranger's state of dress. His white coat is completely open, dark-skinned chest and abs framed on display for the whole world to see. Since the man is running up, his tan chest has a bounce to it, damn everything.

Piers intended on tearing his eyes away himself, but before he can, he's body-checked as Guzma shoves himself forward, face stormy and posture forecasting his tone.

"Nothin's goin' on here, _Kukui._ " The name drips like venom off Guzma's lips. "You can piss off. This ain't ya business."

"Professor! They were trying to get into the stadium." The guard sounds relieved to see this 'Kukui.' Called him a professor. Must be in the same line of work as Sonia, wonder if she's heard of this guy? "I told them they couldn't enter, I can't let just anyone through! Even if they have someone vouching for them, they'll need a pass."

His brows press down in unimpressed suspicion. "Pass? What pass? I didn't need any pass."

"W-Well, you don't need one, sir, everyone here knows who you are and why you're here. But for these little... uh..."

The guard falters under his glare.

_Finish that sentence, I dare you._

The kids use the space to pipe up in protest.

"We were called to help! We're with Piers, doesn't that count?"

"Yeah," Guzma pressures. "Concert's gotta happen, right? You gonna be the one gettin' in the way a that?" Guzma turns his back on Kukui in favor of intimidating the guard, and it works like a charm to make the man's knees shake.

"I..." The guard's eyes flicker between the three other men before pinning desperately onto Kukui. "C-Come on, Professor, you know I can't let them in, tell them they can't go in."

"You motherf—"

"It's all right, everyone settle down." A warm voice raises like a blanket thrown over a bed. Kukui's arms are outstretched and he's got nothing but an easy smile on his face. He seems like a friendly bloke, and while he's smiling too much for Piers to trust him just like that, he doesn't seem to have any hidden motivations for meddling.

Guzma only glares and clicks his tongue at the attempted soothing. Kukui's smile widens.

"No need to get all up in arms over this. Ey, Guzma, you're just trying to help our friend out, yeah?" The professor nods at Piers, who startles at the flash of friendly attention.

"What's it to ya?" Guzma growls, suddenly reminding Piers of an overly-defensive Yamper taking a stand against a very life-threatening leaf.

Impressive how unfazed this Kukui is in the face of Guzma's full derision.

"Taro, cousin, let them in, yeah? They won't do anything wrong, right kids?"

The gang nods furiously, eyes bright at the prospect of getting their chance. "We won't mess with anything! We just wanna help Piers with his show! Promise!"

Kukui claps his hands together in front of his bare chest.

"I see no problems here. Let's let them inside. If anyone has a problem with it, tell them I said it was okay."

The guard bleeds skepticism, but another sunny smile from Kukui wears him down. He sighs and pinches across his eyes.

"Fine. But if one thing is out of place in there, I'm telling management about this whole conversation."

"You do that. But there'll be no trouble," Piers reassures, eager to put an end to all this. "Swear it."

"...Just get inside already," the guard wearily says. He finally stands aside and grants access to the doors, rubbing a hand down his face and mumbling something about not being paid enough for this.

Guzma waves his gang into the stadium. They flow past the adults, eagerly chattering about getting to see the Royal Dome from within and what they're about to help with. Eager things, how cute.

Once the kids are gone, a terse silence remains. Guzma's still on guard, glaring at the professor as if he hindered instead of helped, while Kukui smiles away as if he just had the loveliest experience.

"We don't need yer help anymore, so get outta here already," Guzma grouches. Pretty rude towards someone who just made their lives easier. It's like he hates this man specifically for some reason.

"Hey, just happy to help."

"We had it handled," Guzma presses. "Nobody asked ya ta stick yer nose in our business."

"But I'm glad you did," Piers interjects. "You didn' have to do that, so... thanks fer goin' out of your way."

He blinks when that shining grin is aimed at him. Now that everything's more or less settled, he can't help but notice that beneath the hat and shades is a very handsome face.

"Helping people out is always an Alolan's business." The man pushes the bill of his hat up and winks. "But I admit, when I saw who needed a hand, I was a little extra motivated to run on over. Good luck with your concert, my Galarian friend. I'd hate to miss it!"

Guzma bristles while Piers flushes.

"Oh... thank you." He looks away to get a reprieve from Kukui's everything. "Hope to, er, see you there."

"You bet! I've been looking forward to this for weeks! Can't wait to—"

"Yeah yeah come on already, we got shit ta do, don't we Piers? No need ta waste time talkin' to these guys."

Guzma gives one final round of glaring before grabbing Piers' hand and dragging him back into the stadium as if he were a sack of laundry. Oh—rude! But at the same time, it's hard to be pissed when his hand is being held like this. All Piers can think about is how solid and warm Guzma's hand is, and how on another day he might let the holding continue, but he can't let himself be pulled around. He digs his heels in and rips himself free, lamenting for a moment the loss of warmth.

"Guzma, hang on. What was all that? You were lookin' at that guy like he pissed in your teapot."

"Yeah? _You_ were lookin' at him, too, in yer own way. He's married, y'know?"

_He noticed._

Mortification wells up and chases away any warmth he had. He was ogling a married man. And if Guzma noticed, then Kukui must have, too. Oh, god, he embarrassed himself back there and didn't even realize it. This is going to keep him up at night.

"I- I didn' notice a ring," he hastily says, tugging on the one dangling from his choker. "And I wasn't checkin' him out or anythin', I was just... not expectin' the whole..." He waves his other hand as if it'll convey his thoughts for him. "Near-shirtless thing."

"Tch... It's no big thing. Everybody gets like that with him. Jus'..." Guzma's face scrunches like he's chewing on his words. Wondering if he should spit them out or swallow them. "Don't look at him like that. I want ya lookin' at _me_ like that."

"Sorry?" He blinks in surprise.

He already does that, though. Stare at Guzma in an appreciative way, that is, no matter how much he tries not to because it's inappropriate. He didn't think Guzma might have liked it so much.

Still, the way he said it, it felt like there was more to the message...

Piers' mind dares to fill in the implication. That Guzma wants him to only stare at _him,_ and nobody else. Only him. That's what he meant, right? Would that be too presumptuous to think?

...Was Guzma jealous?

Guzma's looking off to the side with rounded shoulders, expression still stormy, but now that Piers looks closer, he can detect the most microscopic of pouts.

"You heard me, ain't gonna repeat myself. Now come on, kids're waitin' on us."

...He'll err on the safe side by putting this out of mind entirely. Overthinking this will do no good for his sanity. Or for his heart.

As soon as they're back in the stadium proper, they both relax. The group of kids stands at the ready, waiting to be told what their jobs are. With this many hopefully knowledgeable helpers, setting up should be a breeze. Piers steps up with instructions on the tip of his tongue, but Guzma beats him to the punch.

"Okay," the boss starts. "See all that shit over there? I need all of that set up on stage, a'ight? No slackin', this shit's for a rock concert, so take this serious!"

All the kids lift their hands to their heads in a salute, chime the same "Yes, boss!" and dash off to start handling all the cases. Piers teeters on the balls of his feet watching a small crowd gather around his precious equipment, but the way the kids separate and move things with such respectful care relaxes him. They do look confident and delighted in what they're doing, especially around the fancier gear Bumu pulled together... Maybe it really will be alright to leave things to them. He's never been one to deny kids their passion projects.

It still makes him uncomfortable to leave all this heavy lifting to them. But, they're coordinating with each other seamlessly, and are treating the boxes and the gear within with a level of reverence he wishes all his previous tour stops gave. Music gear's expensive, and some people don't give it the care and respect it deserves. There'll be no dropped mics on his watch.

He can't help but smile as he watches them. As much as he fussed about Guzma calling his gang, it really is about to save his skin. He'd been relying on volunteer help his whole tour and Alola is no different. Piers finally relaxes fully and takes his eyes off the kids, giving the man at his side his attention again.

"Thank you for callin' them over. I'm real grateful." He nudges their hands in a subtle thank-you gesture. He'd love to hold Guzma's again sometime, but he'd need a proper excuse first...

Wait, what's he doing, plotting about hand-holding like it's some big deal? It's not like he's never done it before, but then _again,_ all prior hand-holding occurred before feelings were involved. Feelings he was doing a great job forgetting about up 'til now. Marvelous.

He leans away self-consciously when Guzma looks up at him, then down to their hands, then off to the opposite wall. Before Piers can think that he might have made a mistake with his light touch, their fingers are loosely intertwined.

His heart leaps into his throat. When he thought about holding hands again sometime, that didn't have to mean five seconds later!

"No problem. I'll help ya out anytime ya need me." Shot to the heart. "And hey, uh... thanks fer stickin' up for my kids back there. Means a lot."

His hand twitches tighter on accident. "They're good kids, I'll stick up fer 'em whenever they need. Don't worry about a thing, mate."

He refrains from mentioning how Kukui helped too, instinctively knowing that it would kill the mood. Whatever this 'mood' might be.

"I still owe ya one. A big one."

He startles and turns, hand slipping out of Guzma's. The flicker of dissatisfaction on the other's face must be his imagination playing tricks.

"Owe me? I'm still in your debt from day one, I owe _you._ "

A thoughtful look takes over Guzma's face. He rubs his chin for a moment before snapping his fingers with a filthy smirk.

"In that case... maybe you should invite me to yer room and give me a private show so I can see what moves yer gonna pull up on stage tomorrow. Then I'll call us even."

Piers coughs, and the sound turns into a yelp when he's poked in the side. The boss is really going to talk like that when his kids are in the same room? Granted, it's a big room. And they aren't really kids, they're teenagers, and therefore no strangers to innuendos and whatnot. But still, Guzma's basically their _dad!_

He's got to get his mojo back. Enough of letting Guzma jerk him around with his teasing. Just because he might have a crush doesn't mean he has to lose his cool over simple teasing. This is nothing. Nothing at all.

"Say," he starts, "speakin' of shows, did you end up finding a good video to watch last night?"

No reply.

"Guzma...?"

"O-Oh, uh—"

A loud slam jerks his attention away.

"Oi! Careful, it's heavy!" The kids back away from the box looking sheepish. If anyone got hurt he'd never forgive himself, what's he doing chatting away like this? "We should help them."

He double takes when Guzma doesn't move. What's with him?

Hm. This could be funny.

He bends at the waist and sets a hand atop Guzma's head, making the man startle, and ruffles his fluffy hair with a croon.

"Come on, boss, they could use your strength too. 'Cuz you're a big strong man with big strong muscles and I _need_ you so," he sighs like a maiden, eyelashes fluttering.

Guzma's face floods scarlet. Perfect reaction, if only he could take a picture. Piers skips back with a bright laugh before his hand gets swatted away. "Come on!"

_That limey fuckin' prick, pulling moves like that on me..._

He has to admit the compliments weren't too bad, and the way Piers said he _needed_ him like that. His stomach was already doing flips thanks to Piers asking him that damning question about what he looked at last night, and that sudden flirt did not make things better. He takes a moment to calm down, focusing on his breathing to slow his heart and calm his stomach, just like Hala taught him. No thinking about how those pretty eyes were so close or how he caught a whiff of whatever sweet shampoo Piers uses. Just breathing.

Once he has his shit together he saunters over to the gang, where Piers is already giving them more detailed instructions about the setup. He even offers to pull his pokemon out to let them do the heavy lifting, but the gang insists that they've got it handled as long as they work together. They only listen to more instructions once before reassuring the rock star and setting off on their own. They shake Guzma off too, refusing to let their boss lift a finger when he was the one who asked for their help.

Geez, when did they all get so confident? Look at 'em, making him so proud.

That leaves him and Piers to stand together again, off to the side, watching the gang do their eager work.

He silently thanks them for interrupting what Piers was trying to ask earlier. No way is he revealing what he did last night. He's taking that secret with him to the grave. Like hell will he reveal anything that makes his friend feel awkward or grossed out around him.

"They're a lovely bunch. You've got an admirable family." Piers says in a low volume, eyes on a pair unpacking what looks like giant speakers.

"Yeah, they're pretty great." He casually bumps his shoulder into Piers, ignoring how his heart speeds up at that little bit of contact. "I dunno where I'd be without 'em."

"I'm glad they seem happy. It's clear as day they adore you."

"Hey, that's not all me. They're hella excited over ya. The concert's gonna be great for them, they're all hyped to see it." He tilts his head back so he can smile. "I'm gonna enjoy it more than they are, though."

His smile fades when he sees Piers isn't paying attention to him. His phone is out.

Could just be his agent again. Or his sister.

"Will you now..." Piers shakes his head with a soft smile on his face. He's completely distracted. Shit, what if it's that Raihan guy? Piers' best friend that he blushed over the other day?

With how much Piers is concentrating on his phone, it's easy enough for Guzma to sneakily read out the corner of his eye.   
  


**Raihan:** The Great Raihan humbly requests a selfie at your earliest convenience!  
  
**Piers:** the great raihan doesnt know what humble even means  
  
**Raihan:** Would you rather I say that I, The Great Raihan, demand a photograph of you this instant?

  
So it is Raihan. 'The Great Raihan,' the hell is up with that?

Guzma fidgets where he stands. He doesn't like where this is going.   
  


**Piers:** yeah, actually  
  
**Raihan:** Fork it over, then, I wanna see you  
  
**Piers:** what's the rush  
  
**Piers:** you havin a wank right now or somethin?  
  
**Raihan:** Psh  
  
**Raihan:** No  
  
**Raihan:** (i mean maybe in a bit if you insist :P )  
  
**Raihan:** Am I not allowed to ask for pics because I miss you?  
  
**Piers:** do you?  
  
**Raihan:** Well, yeah  
  
**Raihan:** A lot  
  
**Piers:** alright, fine  
  
**Piers:** but you know im not good at this selfie thing  
  
**Raihan:** It's easy! Just hold your phone up and take a pic! We seriously need to get you a Rotom, I'll train it to take amazing pictures for you  
  
**Piers:** ugh okay hang on

  
Guzma startles when Piers switches to his camera and holds his phone up, prepping to take a picture for Raihan.   
  


Raihan...

A bitter surge of jealousy roils in his stomach and he almost takes a surprised step back because of it. The fuck? Piers can text whoever he wants whoever he wants. Especially his best friend.

...A best friend that jokes about jerking off to pictures of Piers.

_Like I'm any better._

"You uh... send a lotta selfies to yer friend there or somethin'?"

"Hm?" Piers adjusts his bangs and pouts at the screen. "Oh, nah, it's mostly him who bombards me. He's a narcissistic git." The phone raises high and nearly falls out of Piers' hand. He fumbles it with a cuss. "Love him, though."

_Love? He **loves** him? He... doesn't mean it like **that** , right?_

Every time he learns something new about this Raihan guy, it sounds like him and Piers are closer than he thought. The singer said before that there's nothing going on between them, but something doesn't sit right about that. Everything about Raihan just screams _threat._

Shit. Kukui was one thing. That guy's married and head over heels for his wife, so even if Guzma got a little jealous over how Piers was looking at him earlier, there's no real threat there. Raihan, though. What if that asshole really is a rival? He can't sit back and do nothing if that's the case!

His hands shove into his hoodie pockets so he can hide how hard they're clenched. "Ya sound reeeeal close..."

"...We're best friends," Piers says, like that explains everything. "Kinda like you and Plumeria, 'cept I dunno if you and her ever shag. Still, you get it, right?"

Shag? What does that mean? It can't mean they slept together. It can't. He refuses to believe it.

"If that means what I think it does..." he warily says.

The camera finally captures a shot Piers likes and he lowers his phone, thumbs tapping the screen to send it over to the oh-so-great Raihan.

"Er, yeah. You know..." Piers looks around to make sure none of the kids are looking before pinning his phone between his elbow and his side and making a universal hand gesture that confirms his fears.

His heart twists with envy, right towards the guy on the other side of Piers' message thread. "Then no. Plumes and I don't."

Piers shrugs and slips the device back into his hands, focus shifting back to the screen.

Guzma glares at it with the drive of a steel spike, wishing the damn thing would shatter into a million pieces from the intensity alone. Piers is with him, on _his_ turf, and should be paying attention to Guzma and Guzma alone while they're hanging out.

He's gonna have to look up this 'Raihan' later. He knows nothing about this guy other than the fact that he's Piers' closest friend, and that he's been in Piers' bed. There's guesses he can make, though. If that asshole knows Piers and they've known each other long enough to become so close... Worst case, he might be a Gym Leader.

That thought makes his stomach churn. A Gym Leader. Something Guzma could never be. Something Raihan already has the upper hand in.

There's no way he can compete with a guy who's already got his foot in the door, but like hell if Guzma isn't gonna go down swinging.

He's gotta tell Piers how he feels. Fight for him.

Part of the fight is getting Piers' attention back. Can't let that Raihan asshole hog it all to himself.

"You know, Rai and I didn't always do that stuff. It's sort of a recent thing..." Piers mumbles, thumbs slowing down over the screen.

That's not really a comfort.

His teeth grit. "Good fer you."

Hala said to be patient and wait for the right time, but if he's going to confess, he'd better do it soon.

Something about Guzma is off. Was it something he said? Something Guzma learned that he didn't like? ...If it's in regards to Raihan, then he won't spend too much distress over it. There's limits to what he can fret over. His friendship with Raihan is one of the precious few things he can't afford to get anxious about. It's happened too many times already in the past, and Piers has come too far in how secure he feels over his relationship with Rai to let something like an outsider's opinion waver his confidence.

Or he could be overthinking things. Like always.

He pushes those tangled thoughts away and focuses on wrapping up his texts. Now that Raihan has the picture he wanted, it should be easy to send him off. He does feel bad for texting like this in front of Guzma, but with a whole month of no communication to make up for it's hard to resist not answering when his best friend comes knocking.

**Raihan:** Daaamn baby look at you 🧡 wym 'not good at this selfie thing,' that's a great pic  
  
**Piers:** if youre bein honest then thanks  
  
**Piers:** took me like five tries  
  
**Piers:** hey i'll have to talk to you later  
  
**Raihan:** Aw so soon? You busy with something?

Yes, actually. Perfect out.

"Oi!" His phone is snatched out of his hand before he can respond to Rai.

Guzma takes a few sweeping steps backwards, waving the phone in the air with a wink and his tongue sticking out. He has no right to be this handsome while being so obnoxious, what the hell brought this on?

"The hell are you doin', give that back!"

"Come 'n get it, then."

What sparked this? Ugh, doesn't matter, all he cares about is getting his phone back, he was in the middle of texting Raihan goodbye to get the git to leave him alone so he can spend time with Guzma.

"Are you seriously doin' this?" He takes an experimental step forward and narrows his eyes when Guzma dances back to maintain the distance.

"Yeah. Come on, babe, dontcha want yer phooone?" Guzma singsongs and tosses the device up in the air, catching it in his other hand with a cheeky grin.

Of all the childish...

It would come as no surprise if Guzma turns out to be petty enough to withhold the phone until he wins it back. Maybe if he's quick...

"Yeah, I do want my—!" Piers lunges in the middle of his sentence. Guzma twists around and jumps straight down from the stage, landing with a heavy thud out of sight. So it's going to be _that_ sort of chase, is it?

"Gonna hafta try harder than tha—shit!" Guzma yelps when Piers leaps down right after him, landing in a clean crouch and lunging straight out of it. His fingers barely miss his target and he snarls.

"Give me my fuckin' phone, you arse!"

Guzma takes off.

Piers gives chase, hurling curses at the man's back the whole time.

The floor of the stadium has amazing traction, and sadly, it's an advantage for them both. Guzma stuffs the phone into his pocket, meaning if Piers wants it back he'll probably have to go for a fucking tackle or a pin or play dirty, anything to make Guzma cry uncle and give the damn thing back.

"Try harder, toots!"

Every time he gets close the ex-gangster dodges. For such a beefy guy he's incredibly light on his feet. Piers might be faster but he's shite at predicting which way Guzma will turn or dodge next. It's enough to drive him mad.

(In the back of his mind, he admits to himself in a whisper: _It's also kind of fun._ )

"You bastard, stop—dodging!"

By now, all of Team Skull have abandoned their work and are standing back to watch this circus. He only pays them mind as obstacles, but once they start cheering—mostly for Guzma, but some are on his side—an exasperated smile crosses his face. They're making this a game and he oddly doesn't mind it.

He almost comes close to snatching the back of Guzma's shirt, but the man dodges with a spin and takes off running towards a group of his own kids.

It's not even about the twice-damned phone anymore.

It's about _catching Guzma._

"Help me out here!" he shouts at the peanut gallery.

The teens look at each other and hesitate too long, and their boss laughs as they let him pass without obstruction.

He skids to a stop and pants, pinpointing where some of the kids who cheered for him are. This group looks much more eager to help out.

"Oi, you lot!"

"Wassup!" They wave at him from where they sit on the edge of the stage, legs kicking in excitement. The most important thing is that they're closer to Guzma than he is right now.

"Why don't you lend me a hand in cornerin' your boss?" He aims a dramatic point at said boss.

"What's in it for us?" they crow.

These cheeky brats! He can respect their hustle. He huffs and tosses his head to get a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Autographs?"

They shrug.

"Signed merch?"

One sits up straighter, but their friends shake their heads and jeer. Guzma cackles in the background.

"Dammit, music lessons?" he throws out of desperation.

To his surprise, the set of teens nearly fall over themselves hopping down from the stage. Guzma's laughing peters out and Piers stands up straighter with a dark grin.

"Your days are numbered now, ye rank tosser." He leers and points right at him. "Don't let 'im leave that side!"

With the salutes of his new lackeys as the starting gun, Piers takes off in a re-energized sprint. Guzma's eyes go wide and he cusses, checking for somewhere safe to run, but ohhh no, there's only one easy way to go and Piers can read it like a book. This better be over soon, he's getting sweaty and winded from all this dashing about.

Guzma on the other hand is in infuriatingly good shape. He's barely winded, and once Piers closes in on him he notes with frustration that the bastard hasn't even broken a sweat. He has to admit to himself that it's pretty impressive, but he can't admire Guzma's physique until after he's won. And he _will_ win. Victory is so close he can taste it.

The teens-turned-traitor help drive their boss against a wall. His sharp eyes are glancing around for an opening, but there's nowhere to run anymore. Piers swipes his wrist over his forehead and heaves a sharp breath of finality, eyes on his prize and not dropping his guard one bit as he closes in.

Piers stalks closer and closer, panting and flushed with his hair wind-blown and messy from running so much. It's an insanely sexy sight, but Guzma can't afford to lose focus at a critical moment like this.

"I've got ya now. Don' even think about runnin' again," Piers pants.

A grin spreads across his face as he holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Looks like I got nowhere else ta run, _babe._ "

"Damn right." Piers juts his chin out and strides forward with an open hand. "Give this babe his phone back. I win."

Guzma makes a show of pulling the device out of his pocket and holding it up in the air. Piers slows his approach, suddenly cautious, but Guzma puts on his best innocent face. Not a single underhanded thought here, no sirree...

As soon as the singer gets close enough to reach for his phone, Guzma grabs him by the arm, twists around, and brings him to the ground with his arms pinned behind his back. He's careful not to take his friend down _too_ hard since the guy's so frail, but it's not exactly a feather fall.

Piers starts cursing before he even hits the ground and tries to roll onto his back, but he can't do jack shit like this. Doesn't stop him from trying to struggle under Guzma's weight though, Piers is one hell of a fighter.

It's undeniably hot.

He leans forward, mindful of his weight distribution, and mumbles into Piers' ear. "Ain't no way I'm givin' up that easy, sweetheart."

Piers struggles beneath him, hissing and spitting cusses like water hopping off a hot griddle.

"You manky fuckin' cheat! Get offa me an' let me up! If yer gonna be a sore loser at least do it t' me face!" He thrashes and snarls with bared teeth. His accent is so thick in his anger that it takes a while to parse.

"Tch! I ain't a sore loser!" Guzma growls and shifts his weight.

"The _fuck_ ya call this then? I won yer brain-dead chasin' game, an' fer what!"

He sits up just enough to let Piers twist himself onto his back, but before the skinny guy can scramble away Guzma sits on him again. Piers snarls and reaches up to grab at his face. Instead of flinching away, he catches those skinny wrists by reflex and slams them onto the floor above Piers' head, holding them in place with one hand while their owner jerks and struggles.

Now this... this is a position he likes being in. Big bad Guzma always comes out on top.

"Nah... I think this is _me_ winnin', princess."

The glare he gets is so fiercely frigid, it sends shivers up his spine. Piers is silent now, but not still. His skinny chest rises and falls with restrained breaths, hair slipping and curling around an exertion-flushed face, and a bead of sweat runs from Piers' temple to vanish into his hair. And those eyes, fuck. Burning with rebellion. Caged lion eyes, he remembers from his very first impression.

A pink tongue darts out and swipes across pale lips. Guzma mirrors the action without realizing, and Piers' gaze flickers to his mouth and back up.

Hala's voice echoes through Guzma's mind.

_When the time is right, you'll be able to tell him how you feel._

Maybe that time is now. Maybe a kiss will tell Piers everything he needs to know.

When he carefully releases Piers' thin wrists, they don't move from where they are over Piers' head. He just lays there, marginally subdued, harsh breathing measured, and when Piers finally bites his lip and looks away, pretty face flushing, it's all the permission Guzma needs. He leans down, on high alert for any sign that Piers wants him to stop.

He curls his hand near a reddened cheek, and doesn't even have to touch it for the man to slowly turn his head, eyelashes fluttering closed. Perfect... One kiss, that should be all he needs...

Their lips are _centimeters_ apart when a piercing screech shatters the air.

Piers flinches beneath him and jerks his arms down, hands pressing but hesitating against his chest to shove him away.

When the microphone feedback ends, an apologetic "Sorry!" rings out.

An annoyed growl rips through his throat and he sits up, looking over his shoulder towards the source of the sound. He was _so_ close to sealing the deal. _So close._

"Tch, dammit! Why'd they hafta go and do that? _Now_ of all times."

"...Th' hell are you disappointed for?" Piers mumbles with a heavy scowl. "No victory snog for you."

Incredulous, Guzma returns his gaze to Piers, lying pretty on the floor, hair a mess and face flushed from what would have been, should have been a meaningful ki—

Wait. Victory...? Did he think Guzma was only gonna kiss him as a trophy or something? That's no good, dammit! There's feelings that gotta be conveyed! He completely failed at showing Piers how he feels. Son of a bitch, how is he gonna do this now?

He'll have to make new plans later. It's too risky to try and have another moment when the gang is watching.

In the meantime, since Piers is talking trophies...

"Hold on a sec." Guzma fumbles _his_ phone out of his pocket and quickly snaps a picture of Piers' pink scowling face. He's saving this one forever. Could set it as his home screen later. Or put it in a more private folder. "There."

"Wha—oh, have your cake and eat it too, I see. Let me _up_ already, I'm sick o' bein' pinned," Piers snaps.

"A'ight. A'ight. Don't get yer panties in a twist, princess."

"You're the one who twisted my damn panties," Piers grumbles and pushes his bangs out of his face. "Up."

Guzma easily rises, and holds his hand down for the other to take. Piers glares at his hand like it's about to bite him, but takes it anyways and lets himself be hauled to his feet. Once stable, Piers dusts himself off with a huff.

"Do I get my phone back now."

Hmmm... alright, guess he earned it.

Guzma extracts it and holds it out, but yanks it back at the last second. Piers swears something filthy at him, whatever.

"One last thing!"

He throws his arm around the skinny man's shoulders and quickly spots the camera shortcut on the lock screen, thank god. He snaps a selfie of them together. Then two. Three just in case. Oh, fuck, why'd he choose Piers' phone to do this on? What if they get deleted!

"Oi, ya done?" Piers wrangles himself loose.

"Yyyep." He holds Piers' phone out towards him once more, this time without any intentions of faking out again. Don't wanna accidentally make his crush pissed off at him for real.

Fucking finally. That was way too much trouble just to get his stupid phone back. Why the fuck is his heart trying its hardest to reach for such a childish man.

Helpful as always, his subconscious prods him with the answer.

_(Because you need a little fun in your life and he's a whole deluxe package.)_

Okay, way to make it sound like a not-serious interest. No, not interest. A fascination. A fancy. Something that'll pass. Because it's not a crush, it's not, but regardless, it's not _trivial._ Anyways, Guzma's not just fun, he's a bunch of other things too.

...Like an arsehole. An arsehole that nearly kissed him after making him run all over the Royal Dome only to take being cornered very badly, pinned him on the floor, and held him down with both body and gaze, leaning down so slow, letting up on his wrists so if Piers really wanted to, he could resist and stop the incoming lips...

_(You wish he did it. You wish he kissed you.)_

...So what if he wouldn't have minded it.

_(Think about why he did that. What if he...?)_

What if nothing. That attempted kiss was Guzma caught up in the moment, nothing more. Things were intense, they were both keyed up! It was sexual tension, simple as that. The kiss would have meant absolutely nothing. There's no way Guzma had any real feelings behind it.

He snatches his phone before Guzma can fake him out again and before he can dwell too hard on the flash of disappointment that snuck up on him at the thought of the kiss meaning nothing, and fires a glare for good measure before checking the device.

**Raihan:** Alright alright I get it, you do whatever you need to do! I know you're always busy the day before shows. I'm glad you took the time to indulge me lol  
  
**Raihan:** Anyways later baby, gotta put that picture to good use 🧡

...All that trouble, and for _this._ He should have let Guzma keep the damn thing.

Piers rolls his eyes and almost stuffs his phone away, but hesitates.

He might as well check out those pictures.

Instead of being a blurry mess like he expected, the candid shots Guzma stole are... quite nice. Guzma's tongue is out—when has it not been, today—and he looks genuinely happy. Both of their hairstyles are complete messes from their game of tag. His bangs are such a wreck it almost distracts him from how his face looks in the image. Wide-eyed and red from exertion, not scowling when he absolutely should be.

It almost looks like he's having fun.

Piers nibbles his lip. He usually deletes photos of himself soon after taking them, or soon after sending them, but these... he thinks he'll keep these. It'll be a memento of his time with Guzma if nothing else.

"Hey! Ya fuckin' traitors!"

His head jerks up. The teens who helped him catch Guzma scramble away in fear of their boss's oncoming punishment.

"Runnin' away won't help ya! I'll jus' get ya later!"

He sighs and tucks his phone away. "Don't be so hard on them, I bribed them. Drove a hard bargain, they did."

He's got music lessons promised to his impromptu allies. They sure were quick to switch to his side once he offered. What are the chances all of them are interested in learning music?

"Bribed? What'd ya bribe them with?"

Was he not listening? Piers rolls his eyes and pushes at Guzma's shoulder. "Music lessons, you git. They didn't sell out for cheap."

Guzma's face scrunches adorably. "Makes sense then. Melody, Beat, 'n Rhythm were always inta that shit... They'll be real happy ta learn from ya," he gruffly admits. "So don't go easy on 'em, a'ight?"

Are those their real names? Melody maybe, but the others have got to be nicknames. Good ones, too. They must really like music. Piers chuckles and reassures the boss that no, he wouldn't dream of it. And Guzma smiles, and things feel a little bit personal again, and he wonders if it would really have been so bad if the man had managed to lean down all the way and kiss him, even if it was just for fun.

"AY-YO! We're almost all done up here!" An excited girl calls for his attention and Piers spins around. A small gaggle of Team Skull teens are clustered around the front of the stage, waving at him to come over.

He welcomes the distraction, and glances around at what they've managed.

The speakers are in place and... impressively symmetrical for their bulk. The borrowed tech doesn't look half bad next to his own gear. The cords are all managed—hell, they're even taped down—and the stand lights are all hooked up, with some of the boys flipping them on and off for fun. The only thing missing from its spot is his microphone. One of the kids should have it. The awful feedback that killed their almost-kiss had to come from something.

"We can't figure out how to get the mic hooked up! Give us a hand, man!"

It's impressive that that's the only thing they've struggled with out of all this. He really has to praise them for their help once he's done the final check for working sound.

"Be right there!" he calls, and clears his throat. "Be right back, I s'ppose..."

Without a word of warning, he's swept off his feet. What the— He nearly thrashes from being picked up so suddenly, but Guzma's arms are stable rebar around his back and under his knees.

Is this a fucking princess carry?

"I'll jus' carry ya there. Ya seem ta be tired after all that runnin' around."

Last night's texts spring to mind and are promptly evicted. It's complete coincidence and random kindness that Guzma chose to carry him where he needs to go.

With a half-hearted mumble, Piers pulls his arms to his chest and lets himself be carried. He always did like to be picked up and held by people he trusts, and who are strong enough (and bold enough) to even try.

_(Oh, like the fact that it's Guzma has nothing to do with it. Admit it, you like him, you like him and you want him and wouldn't it be easy to just wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him?)_

_Shut up_ , he growls at himself. _Now ain't the time._

_(When will the time be, then? Concert's tomorrow. You leave a couple days after. Window of opportunity's closing, mate.)_

Guzma's arms suddenly feel too warm, heat breaching his thin shirt and searing the bare skin of his legs. When's the next time he can get carried like this by Guzma? Just like he told himself, window of opportunity's closing.

His chest tightens and chokes out the little light of bravery that dared to flare up.

_...Then let it close._

He's not going to muck up this friendship because of his romantic feelings. Because fine, _fine,_ he has a crush on Guzma, he admits it! But nothing's going to come of it. The most he'll allow himself is some flirting to vent his feelings so they don't constipate and make him sick, and maybe to also...

_(To see if he might kiss you again.)_

What a mess he is.

Team Skull shamelessly stares as their boss carts him towards the stage. Piers can't bring himself to meet their gazes, and curls up harder in Guzma's arms so all he has to look at are his own knobby knees. The boss doesn't seem to mind the audience. Hell, he nearly _kissed_ Piers in front of them all. As if pinning him down wasn't enough, the boss wanted to go full dominance and claim a kiss.

In the moment, he was so glad that feedback interrupted them. If Guzma actually kissed him, when his feelings are in the state they're in, he might have done something very embarrassing. Like kiss back. Which would only make things weird. All their kisses so far have either been in jest or thanks to intoxication, and he's not about to let Guzma think he might have taken them too seriously all of a sudden.

Ascending the stairs up to the stage is surprisingly smooth; Guzma's carrying him gently. He glances up and promptly looks back to his knees again.

"There ya go, princess," rumbles too close to his face, and vibrates against his side, pressed to Guzma's chest as it is.

He's set down without much fanfare and that's a problem. He almost wishes he was dropped to the floor instead of carefully tilted to let his legs down, strong arm pushing against his back to help him upright, hand plucking at the bottom hem of his top where it rode up his lower back.

It's too caring and he can't rationalize it beyond _maybe Guzma feels bad for all the roughhousing earlier._

He clears his throat and quietly offers his thanks before turning away without meeting Guzma's gaze at all. They're in the middle of business and he needs to take care of it with a clear head. Concentrate on concert preparations. Sound check, mic check, no more trifling with stupid feelings! He's over it!

He draws another step away and notices one of the taller girls gingerly carrying some things towards them. In one hand is a long thin pole, and in the other...

"Oh, my mic! Thanks, this is the last piece we need." He takes both items and flashes her an unsteady smile. "Ready to finish hookin' it all up?"

The excitement crossing the girl's face is enough to push his worries away and pull out his showmanship. He'll give the kids some flashiness. And maybe he can get a spot of satisfaction by showing off a little for Guzma as well. No, not showing off, just some payback for all this damn confusion.

"Everything's plugged in already!"

"Good. Go to the speakers and find the dark red switch, alright? Hit it down on all four."

"Yes sir!" The lanky teen salutes and runs off.

Piers slots and locks his microphone into the spiked skull stand. Now this is starting to feel legit. He carries his mic to the designated 'front' of the stage, a single corner given the focus of the setup. He can picture an audience before him, filling the floor, the stands, cheering and starving for him.

The mic stand clunks down front of him and his hand wraps naturally around the top.

"Got those speakers ready?" he calls.

"YES SIR!"

The rest of the teens pick up on what's happening and scramble from their loitering to gather below him. Piers checks over his shoulder and casts a grin at the man still standing behind him. No use remaining flustered now that he's more in his element.

"Go on, boss," he teases with a wink. The kids are quick to call Guzma down to stand with them.

Now the little crowd is all together. Waiting for him to make a move. The sight of Guzma in the audience, even a small one like this, gets his blood racing.

The singer's slender finger locates the switch on the mic. It comes to life with a near-inaudible hum topped by light feedback as it connects to all the speakers. Buzzing's all symmetrical behind him, that's a good sign.

"One, two, mic _check!_ " His voice rings out into the empty stadium space, amplified by the mic and speakers old and new. The grittiness added to his voice by the tech makes him grin. "We're on!"

The kids below cheer and high five each other. Piers rests both hands on top of his mic and leans his weight on it, cocking a hip out to one side with his weight on one leg.

"Thank you all so much for doin' this for me," he announces, making eye contact with every person in turn to make sure they feel seen. "My show wouldn't be going on without you. I hope to see you all here tomorrow, I'll make sure everyone knows how Team Skull pulled through for me!"

He yanks both feet up from under him so he can make friends with gravity and stomps into a low squat with a satisfying slam of his boots against the stadium stage. He tilts and slides the mic so it's still near his face, and extends an arm to sweep a pointed finger across his elated little crowd.

"You all have my gratitude! Every one of you!" He rises from his squat and drags the mic stand up, easily using the momentum of the base to swing the entire stand upside down over his head. He spins with it and lets it slam back onto the floor, sliding his body flush against the pole and speaking with his lips brushing the mic.

"And thank you, Guzma..." Piers deepens his voice and bores his eyes into the man's as he stands front and center down below. "For takin' such good care a' me. I couldn'a done this without you, either, you infuriatin' bastard," he lowly croons.

His blood was already primed for action thanks to running all over the stadium, and courses quick and hot in his veins from taking the stage. Guzma's electrified staring is only tipping his scales from one kind of passion to another. Nothing wrong with a bit of subtle showmanship. This feels far better than agonizing over feelings. This is familiar, comfortable and playful, and puts him on even ground. Harmless teasing. Piers lets his tongue slip along the seam of his lips this close to the mic, and grazes his fingers along the pole against his thigh.

Guzma can feel every scheming pair of eyes against the back of his head and hear every barely-stifled snicker.

That little line sure got all the kids whispering, but he can't bring himself to care about budding gossip. He's stunned speechless. The way Piers' voice got deeper, more sultry, the way he stared right into Guzma's eyes as he spoke. How the mic stand is pressed flush against him like he's about to start dancing on it, pale lips grazing the head of the microphone in a way that's nearly obscene.

_Fuuuuuuuuck._

Guzma is _sure_ he's blushing. God damn.

There's no way all this isn't some kind of opening. An invitation. He'd be an idiot if he treated it as anything but. If only the kids weren't around, he'd run up there and...

Wait a sec, he's the boss, he's in total control of that.

With an obvious _ahem,_ he whirls around and motions for the kids to stop chattering. "A'ight, a'ight! Y'all did good work! Get yer asses back to Po Town and rest up for the concert tomorrow. Outta here with y'all!"

The kids cheer and whoop as they scurry off. A few try to linger, curiosity and no small amount of deviousness on their smirks, but a sharp look from their boss sends them packing after the rest.

Their chatter's barely faded from earshot when Guzma runs and vaults up onto the stage and rushes at the rockstar, knocking into him and wrapping his arms around him to keep the skinny thing steady. The mic presses uncomfortably between them, but he's not about to lose an inch of closeness just to get the damn thing out of the way.

"Wha' are you—"

"Yer a little minx, y'know that?" Guzma indulgently runs his hands up and down the slim body in his grasp. He can't help it. That display was too much to handle. He stands up straighter, aiming for Piers' neck and growling when the mic gets in his way. He twists it aside, thrusts his face into the side of Piers' neck, and hisses against it. "Shit, ya really know how to drive a man crazy."

He noses against the singer's jaw. Down below, his hands have managed to grip that reedy waist and are already massaging it.

"Hey, hey, th' hell are you doin'?" Piers breathlessly says. He sounds riled up already, and fuck if it isn't making Guzma wanna ravish him right here and now. "I know I teased ya, but we're on stage!"

"Don't give a fuck," he growls.

The rockstar's hand slips off the mic and presses over his side as if to push him away, but doesn't actually do it. Just like when he had Piers on the floor, Piers puts himself on the brink of stopping this, but doesn't. Guzma doesn't mind one bit. As long as Piers doesn't reject him and those cold hands are on him, everything is motherfucking gucci in his book.

Piers squirms in his grasp. "Thought we agreed t'keep it in our pants, am I misreadin' what you're doin' right now?"

Fuck. He completely forgot about that talk they had days ago. He's about to forget it again, on purpose this time, because screw that shit, Piers is one sexy guy and if he goes one more day without doing _something_ about his attraction he's gonna explode, crush be damned. He knows Piers thinks he's one sexy piece, so what's the problem here?

"Nope. Readin' it just fine." He firms up his grip on Piers' waist and slides his hands up, wishing his hands were under that tight shirt instead of on top of it. "Can't expect me ta keep it in my pants after ya did _that_ right in front a' me. Forget all that, let's have some fun, babe."

He nearly cracks and shoves his hands up Piers' clothes when a light squeeze on his sides stays him.

"A'least..." Piers swallows, voice breathy. "Can't we a'least take this somewhere private? My room—my hotel room's nearby."

Guzma's eyes widen and he takes a step back, releasing him.

Piers' room.

Piers' _bed._

He must have died and gone to heaven.

"Sounds like ya got somethin' _fun_ in mind, huh, sweets?"

Piers shakes his head and takes his own step back, cracking a smile that quickly fades.

"Fun? 'Course I do. Ya like jigsaws?"

Piers' lip twitches at the look on Guzma's face, and the singer glances around to make sure no one's around even though he watched all of Team Skull leave. Weirdly self-conscious for someone whose body screamed _take me_ just a minute ago.

"Well, I'm not big on puzzles but I know yer piece would fit well in mine," Guzma nonchalantly says as he tries to close the gap again. Piers shuffles back another step, hand on his choker, and Guzma halts, confused. Something's up.

Piers confirms his suspicion with a sore look.

"Sorry. Er..." Piers clears his throat. "If you really are interested in... sex with me," he says under his breath even though they're alone, "then there's things I have to tell you first."

Aw, the way he looked when he said 'sex' was too adorable. All hushed and blushing. Guzma's lips turn upward into a grin. "What? Gonna admit ya have feelin's fer me or somethin'?"

Piers blushes so hard it makes his heart flutter. Guy's got no right to look so beautiful. ...Wait, if Piers is blushing over what he said, does that mean...?

"N-No! That's not what I was gonna say!"

_Dammit!_

Piers shakes his head and tightens his hand on his pendant. "I just... don't want you to be surprised, or..." He gets quieter. The choker clinks when he lets go to rub his bare arms, looking off at the floor of the stage. "Disappointed when we... _if_ we do anythin' together."

"What? Disappointed?" That's insane, nothing could disappoint him. Piers is perfect.

Those ice green eyes pull away from him, Piers stiffly gripping his own shoulder and hunching real bad. "..."

This sounds serious. He should sober up and not joke around if he wants to have a shot at getting intimate with Piers. And to avoid making Piers' worry worse. _And_ to potentially have an opening to confess, how could he forget about that? His dick took over for a while there but he knows exactly what he wants to do now.

First, listen to whatever Piers has to say. Then, if the mood is right, confess his feelings. And if that goes well, then hopefully they can get right to being intimate. The sex should just be a bonus to getting his feelings well-received, but getting to confess should come second to helping Piers' worries about whatever it is he's all insecure about. Yeah. Priorities. His boo comes first, then himself. Look at him, being all considerate. Catching feelings does some weird shit to you.

He steps close again, lowering his voice to match Piers' hushed volume. "Hey. You listened to all my shit when I was drunk off my ass, it's only fair that I listen ta yers. You can tell me anything. Once we get back to yer place, I'm all ears."

With a slow inhale, Piers nods and relaxes his posture.

"Okay. Yeah. We can do that." He finally makes eye contact again, and a flicker of his usual fire comes back. "An' if all's well, we can finish what you nearly started, how's that?"

Guzma grins in response. That sounds fucking amazing.

"You're stayin' at the resort, right?"

"Yeah, room five-oh-n _ine!_ " Piers gasps when Guzma grabs a hold of his hand and drags him out of the stadium.

It's a short walk from the Dome to the resort, but he wishes it was shorter. And less populated. A lot of people on the street are staring at him pulling Piers along as if he were a cart. Fuck, he doesn't want them to call the cops or something, so he forces himself to slow down and give Piers a chance to catch up. Now they're both speedwalking towards the resort, side by side, hand in hand.

Once they're in the resort lobby, Guzma drags him towards the elevators. The front receptionist tries to speak up as they pass her, but Piers flashes her a smile and reassures her that Guzma's his guest.

The elevator is quiet. They're still holding hands while Guzma stabs the button for the fifth floor, and he doesn't let go even as the elevator rises. Piers is all his right now. They're so close to getting some damn private time together, with no chances for interruptions. No kids, no nosy old men or entitled fans or protective Pokémon. Just him and Piers, alone together, talking. Everything they need to make meaningful progress together.

"Er..." Piers breaks the tense silence. "What's your plan exactly?"

"We're going to talk," he impatiently states. Can't this elevator go any faster? "Ya said ya needed to tell me some things, so I'm gonna sit there and listen."

The moment the doors open wide enough for them to shove through, Guzma heads straight for the correct room. 509, he said.

He stands aside to let Piers open the door with a fumbled swipe of his room key and crowds the guy inside. He scans the room. Big and fancy as he expected, and right there's the bed. Big fucking thing. Perfect. He herds Piers towards it and sits the man down with no protest.

"There." He squats on the floor in front of Piers to give him an audience. "Now, let's talk this shit out. Tell me what ya need ta say and we'll go from there, okay?"

This is moving so fast. He never expected Guzma to break their "no sex" agreement. Flirting was well and good, but sex was supposed to be out of the deal, off the table, not even allowed in the bloody dining room. And now this. Hitting the negotiation and disclosure phase out of nowhere.

Guess he never foresaw their sexual tension ever reaching event horizon. All it took was one chase, one carry, one croon into the mic...

He swallows and nods. "Alright. Sure."

He at least spares himself the time to take his boots off. As he undoes his laces, hunched in half and staring at the plush hotel carpet, he gathers his thoughts and tucks his feelings away.

This is only about sex. He needs to put his silly pining out of mind, because as much as he's stressed everything, he would honestly love to have the chance to bed Guzma. Man's driven him wild just by existing, not to mention all the teasing and tension from literally all of today. This could be good for him. Maybe after they fuck it out, his feelings will clear up.

_(You know they won't. What you feel for him isn't silly or trivial. Be an adult about it, will you.)_

_One thing at a time, okay?_

Boots set aside, Piers sighs and combs his bangs out of the way.

"So... sex, yeah. I'll be frank with you, mate, I think you're hot as hell and I'd love if we fucked."

Desire flares in Guzma's eyes, and Piers dials down the crude language in case communication veers away from productive.

"But I mentioned wantin' to disclose some things, so here we are, yeah?"

"I'm listenin', doll."

Guzma seems intent on squatting right there in front of him and letting him speak uninhibited. Piers sits forward into his usual slouch and lets his arms hang over the edge of the bed, between his spread legs.

Here goes nothing. Just have to be honest and then the ball will be in Guzma's court to consider worth playing or not.

Piers lowers his gaze arbitrarily to Guzma's knee.

"I have a... a hang-up. A problem, you could say. With usin' my voice durin' sex."

No negative reaction yet, only the slightest furrow of the brow. So far so good...

"It's a mental thing, something..." His dangling hand gestures vaguely upwards and his gaze zones out around Guzma's bent knee. He hates saying the T-word, but his friend deserves honesty. "Trauma-related, you know. I can't..."

His mouth moves, but no more words come out. His body's suddenly unwilling to provide any more details.

Come on, speak, it's just Guzma... He won't judge. Will he? He has the right to. Anyone does.

Piers doesn't blame anybody for being turned off and not interested after learning that their songbird squeeze won't sing in the sheets for them. And for the ones who do say they don't mind, that all that mattered was their mutual enjoyment, they always changed their tune real fast...

_It's like fucking a corpse,_ that one always stuck.

_Am I even making you feel good? Am I not good enough for you?_ are other common lines.

_You've never slept with anyone like me before, there's your problem. Let me show you what a good time really is, baby-doll..._

Urgh... The overconfident claimers are somewhat worse, turning his quirk into a challenge to overcome, so they can boast the trophy of _I fixed him, all he needed was a cock like mine to stop being so shy._ Those people tended to get frustrated with him when he refused to crack. Got rougher with him. Determined to make him sing.

Which one will Guzma be? Turned-off, or fired up? Either way, it always ends in disappointment for the other party involved...

(Unless it's Raihan. But Rai's not here, he's far away in Galar, and it's been over a month since Piers could lose himself in those comforting, caring arms.)

He won't blame Guzma if his admission is a total let-down. It'll sting that they can't be intimate together in that way, but it's not like there'd be a net loss...

Hell, maybe it'll be a blessing in disguise if Guzma loses interest. Piers has never had any difficulty separating sex from emotions, but he's never liked someone like this before.

Guzma rises and the sudden motion startles him into a freeze. Is he—did he decide to walk out already?

Instead of heading to the door, Guzma strides closer and squats down again, right in front of his knees. Guzma takes one of his hands and pries it loose enough to fold his fingers in and squeeze, and Piers' throat goes dry.

"'S okay, man. Keep goin'. You can tell me anything." Another squeeze. An understanding gaze that melts the rigidity from his frame.

Oh... of course, Guzma wouldn't leave. How silly of him to think so. This is his friend he's talking to. Guzma's barely learned anything yet, but he won't—shouldn't—leave over anything he learns. At least, that's what Piers hopes. Kind of hard to shake the anxiety that something might go terribly wrong. The stakes of being honest with a friend feel far higher than spilling to a stranger.

Piers nods, swallows to try wetting his dry throat, and looks away from the man crouched before him. His hand is squeezed a third time. Helps push the words out.

"A-Alright. Uhm. If someone's... pleasurin' me, I can't moan, can't say hardly anythin' 'cause of how it sounds when I'm worked up. I mean, I _can,_ but I don't. I both don't want to, and my body also just... It feels _bad._ If I let someone make me make noises. Real bad."

Dread, shame, nausea... Not to mention the aural flashbacks whispering deep into his mind's ear, crawling up like maggots born from the rotten things buried in his memories.

"So, yeah..." He shifts on the edge of the bed. "I can be non-vocal. Which is ironic, I know, since singin' is my passion, but you won't get that out of me if you wanna fuck me. And I'm sorry. I know that moanin's important to get your partner into it, and you were probably looking forward to hearin' me, but... I can't. I'm real sorry."

It's far more than he usually bothers explaining. Only the second time he's apologized for a fact about himself, too. Chest clenching, Piers' shoulders hunch further and his hand tenses inside of his friend's. Please, please let that not be a dealbreaker...

"Piers—"

"I can still be passionate," anxiety makes him blurt. "And it's only when someone's pleasurin' _me,_ I'm perfectly okay when I can take the lead. A-And I _do_ enjoy sex, I just... I'm a bit..."

_Broken about it?_

Piers fidgets in place. "You get the idea, yeah? I hope you do, at least..." He fizzles out. His free arm crosses his chest and he grips his shoulder, digging his fingertips against bone to feel the ache of it.

He's ready for any outcome. Guzma could not mind at all. Or he could be disappointed that he wouldn't get to hear what a rockstar sounds like in bed. Guzma could lose interest in sleeping with him entirely. Or he could think Piers is broken or something. None of those would be brand new, or unwarranted, reactions.

He swallows around the growing lump in his throat. He can't read anything definitive on Guzma's face and it's tying his gut into knots.

"Is that... Was that too much?" he weakly asks. "Sorry, I..."

Guzma runs a hand through fluffy hair and scratches the back of his head. He now looks like he's thinking very hard about something. Piers would be panicking over how long it's taking if Guzma weren't holding his hand so steadily throughout.

"...Listen. I'll be honest." _Here it comes, he's going to say nevermind and walk out—_ "I'd love to hear that from ya, sure, but it's no deal breaker. I'm still in this."

Piers' heart skips an anxious beat.

"You sure...? I- I've had partners give up on me before. In the middle of it, even. 'Cause they couldn't get into it 'cause they thought _I_ wasn't into it and—"

The intensity thrown from knife-sharp eyes put a muzzle on any doubts trying to leave his lips.

"I'm sure. I dunno what kinda dumbasses ya had before, but I ain't gonna leave ya, boo. Not for anythin'."

It's got to be his stupid feelings putting a filter on how he interprets those words, but that almost sounded like... like Guzma meant that in a deeper way than just sticking around for sex. He sounded so sincere, and Piers is aching for it. But of course _ain't gonna leave ya_ just means Guzma's open to trying intimacy out with him. It's not any deeper than that. Can't be.

Guzma watches carefully as Piers nibbles his lip with visibly racing thoughts.

Hopefully his words got through to him. That he won't leave Piers for anything. He's in this for the long haul, not that Piers is necessarily aware of that yet.

Of all the things he expected Piers to reveal, being nonverbal during sex wasn't one of them.

Hearing the guy he likes moan for him would make his day, his whole motherfucking week, but he understands. What matters most is that Piers is comfortable in bed with him. He's gotta make sure they both have a good time in their own ways, and that starts with making his friend feel reassured right now.

When Piers doesn't seem likely to speak, Guzma runs his thumb along the soft skin of the hand in his grasp.

"Hey. It ain't a big deal, really. It's jus' how y'are, and I accept that. Ain't like I don't have my own problems with this kinda thing, y'know?"

Piers lifts his head. His eyes are shifty with worry, and Guzma hates seeing him look so anxious.

"Is it..." the singer gently starts. "Is it anythin' you need t' share before we start? Not that I'm in a hurry, or that we even have to start, I just..." Piers takes a deep breath. "I wanna know more about you."

Shit, how can he say no to that? Anything Piers asks for, if Guzma can give it to him, he will. Even uncomfortable shit like this. He _wanted_ this experience to be fun and lighthearted for them both, but these are good conversations to have. He's more than happy to get closer to Piers emotionally. Besides, Piers opened up a lot just now. It's his turn now.

It'll be hard saying this, but he's committed. What makes it easier is knowing his drunk self already spilled a lot of tangential details the other night.

"Ya already know about my ex." He tears his eyes away. Guess it's his turn to start getting nervous.

His hand is squeezed. "Lusamine. Yeah."

Hearing that name in Piers' mouth makes his stomach turn. He lets go of Piers' hand and stands up, turning to face the wall, and starts off with a slight redirection.

"Hey, so when we get, uh, intimate. I know ya said you can be vocal if you're in charge, but... would ya mind if I took the lead? I'm a'ight with you bein' quiet, boo. I jus'... wanna be the one startin' stuff, if that's okay."

"I don' mind," Piers says with some confusion. "Mind if I ask why?"

"Well, uh." He rubs the back of his neck just to give his hand something to do. "When I worked for..."

It's hard to say her name even in his own head, so how is he going to admit this? Every time _she_ enters the forefront of his mind, he feels powerless, vulnerable, scared. But he needs to open up. This'll be good for him. He can practically see Hala nodding and encouraging him to keep going.

"Her and I, whenever we'd have some time alone, after talkin' about the important issues with her mission, she'd..." He aims a foul scowl at the wall, hating to talk about his own weaknesses. "She'd usually initiate, and I couldn't fight back. I mean I could, not like I was weaker than her physically, but... I didn't. I was desperate for any kind of affection, so I usually jus' let it happen. But there were some times I said 'no' and she got upset and just... did it anyways. A-And I let her. Like a _pussy._ "

What's Piers gonna think of that? He knows it sounds pathetic. To let someone walk all over him like that. He's supposed to be the big bad boss! But how can he maintain that image when he let someone do whatever they wanted just because he was a little lonely? It's pathetic.

"I just... I haven't done anythin' with anyone since then. Not even cuddlin' or easy shit like that." His fists clench hard at his sides. He wants to hit something, translate his fear into anger, but restrains himself. "Plumeria helped with some of it, but..."

But that bitch still has her claws in him. She's out of his life, but she stained him. Turned him into a weak man.

The sheets rustle. Soft footsteps press into the carpet, closer and closer, and stop right behind him. He doesn't dare turn around. His back is stiff, and only gets stiffer when pale arms ghost around his waist.

"Your ex was awful for doin' that to you." The words are soft, spoken gently into his hair. "You're no' a pussy. You're so strong for survivin' that terrible relationship."

"I dunno 'bout that. But thanks."

He'd be a lot stronger if he stopped it from happening to begin with...

The arms around his waist firm up into a hug.

"I mean it. Guzma, endurin' that shite takes a lot out of you, I know it does. I'm so sorry it happened, it ain't your fault at all that she... took advantage of you." Piers re-routes mid-sentence and Guzma's grateful for it. "Yer not weak, and it's okay that you need to do things a certain way to be more comfortable."

The tension evaporates from his body and the words ease the turmoil in his head. It's crazy how only a little touch from Piers can bring him down like this. He's never gonna let this guy go.

Guzma leans back against a skinny chest with an exhale that shudders.

"You know, Guz... I'm glad you picked me as the person you wanna try doin' things with again. If you're okay with me bein' quiet, you can take the lead all you need, luv."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze. Love. There's no way Piers means that. It's a regional thing, right? Galarian slang...? Whatever it is, it drags all his feelings right to the surface.

He's got the guy he likes hugging him right now. Piers accepts him, doesn't think he's weak for what he allowed to happen with Lusamine. Piers wants to get intimate with him still, is willing to let him take charge. Piers is giving himself to him.

He feels so... trusted. Cared for. Like he could do anything right now with no crash and burn to fear.

"Piers..." He slowly turns around in the hug, unable to look up just yet. "I..."

Piers makes an interested sound. "Usin' my name all of a sudden? Must be somethin' good."

No, he won't let Piers lighten the mood. This needs to stay serious, now's the time Hala spoke about. It has to be now. He feels it. He has to say it before he loses his nerve.

"I have somethin' ta tell ya."

The lightness fades from Piers' tone. "What is it?"

Piers' hug loosens and Guzma yanks him flush before he loses him.

This next part is the hardest. He's never _confessed_ like this to anyone. He feels like a damn school girl his heart's pounding so hard.

"I dunno how to fuckin' do this. So I'mma just say it."

He tilts his head back, trying his best to meet Piers' eyes but it's really damn difficult when they make his heart pound like a frantic war drum.

"I got feelin's for ya. And I don't mean jus' friendly feelin's, either. I mean I like ya, in an _interested_ way. I- I mean, fuck, I'm interested in ya as more than a friend, is what I'm sayin'!"

God, that was so awkward! Too many words for something so simple, he should have shut up after the first sentence instead of running his stupid mouth.

His front is suddenly cold when Piers shoves at his chest and takes a swift step backwards. Shock has spread his expression open—wide eyes, gaping mouth, brows shot up. It would be a funny expression in literally any other context, but right here it's the furthest thing from funny.

"No. No way. What do you mean you..." Piers falters.

His heart cracks. Shit, this isn't good. Piers must not feel the same way.

But he hasn't been rejected yet. If there's still a chance then he has to push on. All he wants is a chance, a shot to prove himself, to show that he can make Piers happy, happier than he could be with anyone else. It might not even be true that he can do that for Piers, but fuck, he has to try!

"I mean, I wanna fuckin' date ya! But if ya don't feel the same, then. 'S fine. I get it. I mean, why me, right?" He rubs the short hair at the back of his head, looking down around Piers' boots. "But I wanted to shoot my shot with ya anyways. See if I might have a chance even if ya don't feel the same way."

He better not have just fucked up their friendship by confessing like this. The possibility didn't even cross his mind until now. He doesn't know what he'll do if Piers wants nothing to do with him anymore! His chest is hurting just thinking about it.

Piers' mouth moves silently for a few seconds before he finally sputters. "Now... now hang on, I didn' say I don't feel..." Guzma's head jerks up. Piers looks like he's rifling through a mental dictionary to find the best word. "Feel..."

Please let the next words out of that pretty mouth be 'the same way.' Please, please...

"Piers, I need ta know how ya feel. If yer not interested in me like that, that's fine, I can get outta yer hair about it. If ya are, then... maybe we can do somethin' about that."

He shoves his hands deep into his pockets to hide how clammy his palms are getting, trying to stay as cool as he can as his crush takes his sweet sweet time putting his thoughts together.

This was not how Piers meant for his day to go.

He spent practically all of today trying to ignore his newfound feelings for the man before him, only for said man to _up and confess._

It should be reason for celebration. Should be. But the only thing Piers can bring himself to feel is shock, a touch of panic, and an urgent need to grab the nearest pillow so he can scream into it.

Guzma wants to date him. Because Guzma has feelings for him... More-than-a-friend feelings. Romantic feelings.

That near-kiss they had in the stadium not even an hour ago wasn't Guzma trying to fuck around. It was Guzma nearly confessing. It's irrefutable. Unignorable. Just like Piers' own feelings.

He has to answer. Guzma's starting to look real distressed as he stands here wrestling with his own brain like an idiot.

Forget being eloquent, as long as he gets his point across it'll be good enough.

The cool metal of his choker and the weight of it in his fingers gives him the courage to force it out.

"I'd. Like to do somethin' about it, yeah." His stomach flips with nerves. A yank on his choker pulls the rest of the words out like a brush ripping through tangles. "I like you too. Tried denyin' my feelin's thinkin' we should stay platonic, but I can't anymore. I'd love to date ya and see where it goes."

The stress-born pressure pent up inside his heart releases. His heart is hammering in the newly made space, but it's shockingly not overwhelming. More the expected level of whelming.

Confessing felt... good. Telling the truth out loud feels good. Guzma's reaction is good too. The nervous set to his friend's face evaporates and leaves behind raw surprise.

Piers' feet take him closer without thinking, and he stops just within arm's reach. Either one could reach out and touch the other, and Piers doesn't know who might do it first.

Neither move. Guzma's just standing there with a brick red face and his hands stuck stiff in his pockets, looking... quite cute, honestly.

Since Guz doesn't seem capable of saying anything, Piers verbally prods.

"So... what was your idea of doin' somethin' about all this?"

Guzma blinks like he suddenly came back to himself.

"Dunno. Didn't really think I'd get this far," he mumbles and fidgets in place. Not reaching out, not looking up. Gods, he's being _shy._

Why is this man so adorable sometimes...

"Well..." He closes the gap with a sidle. His hands drift to settle on Guzma's round, tense shoulders, and he slides his touch up until he's toying with the fluff of Guzma's hair. "You could start by askin' me out on a date."

Guzma's eyes finally meet his, and those strong hands he likes so much gently cover his waist. There's nothing gentle about the way he's being looked at, though. Guzma's eyes are piercing, sharp, ready to cut him open with sheer intent alone.

"Go out with me." Rock solid words, spoken as surely as if Guzma can predict the future. "I'll take ya on a date that's romantic as fuck, princess, just you wait."

So much for 'ask.' More like he's being ordered, but can't bring himself to mind, because hell, he was planning on saying yes anyways. He wants this. After playing the denial game for nearly twenty-four bleedin' hours he's actually getting what he wants. He didn't think it was possible, but here it is, right in front of him, touching and gripping him like he belongs to somebody already.

"After my show sound good?" His voice is getting breathy. The hands encompassing his waist tighten and he nearly keens.

"After yer show," Guzma confirms with a curt nod. There's not a trace of softness in this man right now, he's all steel. Conviction personified. Everything Piers wants to take shelter in.

"I'd love to." It comes out as a whisper, but the way Guzma's face splits into a smile shining bright as diamonds you'd think he sang his acceptance from the rooftops.

The urge to lean down and kiss him is building up something fierce. It would be so easy to just tug on this fluffy hair, tilt Guzma's head back and go for it. Piers catches himself leaning down just a hair and stops. No, it's too soon. He shouldn't. They might have limited time together but that doesn't mean Piers can go around rushing just because he wants a kiss from his... his friend, they're still friends. They haven't done anything yet, only promised a date.

Guzma can't believe his luck. He can't believe that Piers has romantic feelings for him, too. Someone like _him._ A poor, good for nothing, outcast gangster that everybody hates and nobody considers an option.

The show of composure he's built up nearly crumbles in sheer relief when Piers agrees to a date, but then he notices the fingers in his hair have stopped. Piers leans down a fraction and halts, holding himself back for some reason. Hell, if all his boo needs is encouragement, Guzma's got it in spades.

Smile widening fresh, Guzma loops his fingers into Piers' choker and tugs down until their lips press together. That one starting second of contact is all he needs to forget the entire world.

His eyes fall closed without him realizing. All that's on his mind are the softness of Piers' lips, the gentle pressure against his own, and the intangible sigh that brushes his face. The arms around him drape over his shoulders and Piers melts against him, letting out a soft sound that he's gonna remember forever.

This feels right. It feels _so right._

Piers kisses him back, languid and slow like what spring does to snow. Such a perfect fit against him, he doesn't think he's ever been happier. This is the chance he wanted. He'll do his damndest to show Piers just how far they can go together. A single date may have been all they agreed to for now, but he's got his eyes on the prize. He wants Piers to be his. _All_ his.

A content moan rumbles out of his throat, as he tightens his grip around Piers' thin waist. It's so tempting to kick this up a notch and push the man backwards and onto the bed. Piers is so thin, it'd be so easy. That's one too many notches at once, though. One thing at a time. He's gotta savor this first real kiss.

Guzma swipes his tongue along Piers' lower lip, demanding more while pulling his favorite skinny body tighter against him. The room's getting warmer and only gets hotter when the kiss suddenly opens up. Fuck yes... He's gonna show his boo just what he can do with his tongue.

When a long tongue probes into his mouth, a shiver wracks up Piers' spine. It only gets worse when something round and hard rubs into his mouth. That piercing, how could he forget that piercing? He toys with it with the tip of his tongue and the kiss gains a new color when Guzma growls into it and holds him tighter.

This man's going to kill him, he's never been so worked up by a kiss before in his life. It's embarrassing how turned on he's getting from a little liplock. He knows part of it is the joy of having his feelings reciprocated. He's not making out with some random bloke, this is Guzma. Guzma, who likes him back, wants to date him, see where this goes.

Piers indulges in a few more moments of bliss before pawing Guzma's shoulders and pushing back to break the kiss. Guzma doesn't let go of his waist, so he has to lean back pretty hard to get a safe distance between their faces.

"Guzma..." He licks his well-kissed lips and pants. "If you keep that up I don't think we'll be able to stop."

The grin he gets sends another burst of desire coursing through his body.

"Who said anythin' about stoppin'?"

His arse is grabbed out of nowhere and given a rough grope. Before he can react, he's dragged closer and his neck is attacked, rough lips running all the way up to his jaw and giving it a sharp nip. Piers bites back the sound that nearly escapes. That was close. They can't rush like this, it's too dangerous. He's too sensitive and this is too sudden.

"Ssssst... nnno, no, we shouldn't. Should!" he corrects with a gasp when his arse is hungrily squeezed. "Should stop! I won't be able to dance on stage t'morrow, I'd be limpin', so—quit that!" He whines when a tongue flicks at his throat.

Finally released. He stumbles back a step, rubbing his neck dry and tugging at his clothes to get himself sorted.

" _Thank_ you. Look, I'd love to fuck you, but should wait. I like you, but 'm not gonna put my concert at risk because I couldn' keep my dick in my pants."

Guzma crosses his arms with a thoughtful look. "Ya know... if it's dancin' yer concerned about, we can always do somethin' else. I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't want yer dick in my mouth right now, doll."

He chokes. Of course they can still have some fun, how stupid is he? There's ways to make each other feel good that aren't penetrative, he should know that better than anyone.

God, it's almost unbelievable that Guzma's so forward about it. He isn't used to anyone outright declaring that they want to make him feel good.

He still needs to ask to confirm. "You really wanna do that?"

"Why wouldn't I? I wanna see how my tongue makes ya crumble." Guzma flashes his piercing and Piers blushes anew.

Fuck. He'd love nothing more than to feel that thing on him... but if Mister Temptation here goes down on him right now, when he's still reeling from the confession and its aftermath, it's a guarantee that he'll ruin things with his mental shite. 'Crumbling' isn't something he's capable of. He needs to collect himself before Guzma can safely pleasure him. Screwing up their first time screwing is not an option.

"You know about my problem. It's best if I go first. I wanna..." They're beyond verbal censorship right now. All in. Piers licks his lips and his eyes flicker downwards, and he declares in a low voice, "I wanna get on my knees for you. You can take charge, but I'm dyin' t' please you."

"Oho..." A handsome face invades his space. "Ya really want my cock, don'tcha, babe?"

"I do."

Desire flutters low in his gut seeing Guzma's pupils dilate this close.

He'd love nothing more than to drop his knees right here and drag Guzma's pants down. But they need to slow down. Pace themselves. They've both made it clear they've got baggage, so if they don't clarify everything that needs to be clarified, warn about everything that needs to be warned about, it's likely their intimacy will fall apart from an unknown misstep. They need to negotiate. Communicate.

"First, you clean?" he asks.

Guzma clicks his tongue. "Yeah. Ex used ta make me get checked every week or so. Ain't really had anyone since her."

Piers' brow furrows. Every week? He thought that all Guzma had was Lusamine, why would she get him tested that often...

Control. A reminder that he can't escape or be with anyone else, perhaps... Good for him that Piers was never the possessive type.

"I'm clean too. Got condoms on me just in case, but if I'm suckin' your cock I'd rather they not be necessary, hm?" He lowers his voice and lightly brushes up the side of Guzma's thigh. "So tell me... You wanna take charge, big guy? Want me to listen to your commands?"

"Exactly that, doll..." Guzma tugs on his choker and purrs. "Yer gonna put my cock in yer mouth and listen to everythin' I tell ya. All my rules. Like a good slut."

A full-body shiver runs hot beneath his skin at the nickname. Guzma's lucky he's into that, or Piers would scold him for trying to be derogatory without finding out if he likes it first. Speaking of.

"Got some rules of me own, love." He'll keep it quick and nonintrusive so they can get right to it. "You can grab my hair, but don't force my head. Don't call me a good boy or angel, either," he finishes.

The flirtatious set to Guzma's face drops for a moment. "Why? What's wrong with callin' ya good boy?"

The question is innocent, but pulls a dark echo with it.

_Callin' ya good boy?_

_Good boy?_

_That's a good boy, Piers..._

The flame of his arousal flickers like a cold draft snuck in. He licks his lips and clears his head with a short shake, and gives his friend a smile that he forces to reach his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. All _you_ need to think of right now is me suckin' you and lovin' every second. Like the good slut I am," he delicately croons.

That does the trick. Curiosity vanishes, replaced with desire. "Now yer talkin'..." Guzma releases the choker and strides around to sit on the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide.

"Why don't ya come over here and kneel in front of me."

He'd love nothing more.

Guzma strips his jacket off and drops it on the carpet, and swings his chain around to his back. He then takes the bottom of his shirt and lifts it, puts the hem right between his teeth. Guzma grins around the fabric and curls a finger. _Come here_ , it says.

The sight of Guzma sitting there like _that_ has Piers' own dick waking up. God, that chest is amazing, and so is that belly. Piers wants to put his mouth on both, but that would be against the rules, and is therefore out of the question.

His feet take him closer to the bed. Guzma's grin and that beckoning finger are too magnetic to even think about resisting or playing coy.

_If this was the last thing I saw before I died, I'd die happy. Fuck..._

Piers' bony knees hit the carpet between Guzma's spread feet, and he keeps his back straight and tall to keep the distance between their faces minimal.

"What's next, sir?" He stares into the sharp eyes above him as he tests out different names. "Boss? Master?"

The bottom of the shirt falls out of Guzma's mouth and regrettably conceals that lovely body. "Boss."

Boss it is.

Guzma rises from the bed, and the outline of a half-hard erection is suddenly presented inches from his face. Piers' throat bobs and he peers upwards, wetting his lips in preparation and lifting his hands to the waist of Guzma's trousers, fingertips teasing at the elastic.

This is really happening. This is no drunk kiss or cuddle, or silly game of tag. They're alone together with nothing in their way at last, not even denial or hidden feelings. Everything's in the open, they can discard all pretenses and just _enjoy_ each other as best they can.

Piers tugs the sweatpants down inch by inch, mouth watering as the swelling bulge is slowly revealed.

"That's it..." Guzma's smirk makes his knees weak, good thing he's already down. "Now... be an obedient little slut and get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I think you know what to expect next chapter ;)
> 
> Hours remaining: 85


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